


The Hardest Science

by jentacular



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 230,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jentacular/pseuds/jentacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Robert Sugden has had Aaron Livesy erased from his memory.  Please never mention their relationship to him again.  Thank you.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a wibbly wobbly non-canon timey world where the Whites did not stick around Emmerdale post affair-reveal, and went...elsewhere. For the sake of convenience. And also because - why wouldn't you, after that kind of bad luck? 
> 
> It's hard writing for a soap. And maybe soaps and 'Eternal Sunshine...' don't mesh well together, but in my defence, if ever there was a character who would misguidedly erase his past mistakes, it would be Robert Sugden. Title comes from Alexander Pope's 'Eloisa to Abelard', because it's an 'Eternal Sunshine...' AU and there are rules.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Home_ , he thinks. _It's where you go when there’s nothing else left._

In the end, Lawrence comes by the hotel with a cheque. “Not that I think you deserve a penny,” he says. “Just think of it as an incentive to leave our family alone.” He doesn’t even offer it to Robert – instead he places it on the table like the touch of Robert’s hand might poison him. 

“That’s it, then?” Robert asks. “You drop some money in front of me and expect me to just – disappear?”

“I think you’ll find the amount quite generous,” Lawrence says. “Since, after all, you deserve _nothing_. But Chrissie wants to get this over with as painlessly as possible. We both felt some cold, hard cash might go some way toward persuading you. But make no mistake – this is the carrot.” He holds Robert’s eyes, unblinking as he says, “If you ever come crawling around us again – well…I have absolutely no objection to wielding the stick.”

“I want to see her,” Robert says, setting his jaw. This is – it’s ridiculous. He’s still reeling, blindsided. The breakup had come out of nowhere – like Chrissie had just flipped a switch all of a sudden. She’d just decided and he’d been put out on the kerb like yesterday’s rubbish. They’d been…well, probably not perfect, he can concede, not entirely _happy_ , but all right. He’d thought. 

“But she doesn’t want to see you,” Lawrence tells him. “Ever again.”

“I don’t even know what I’ve done!” he says. 

Lawrence smiles at him – soft, sincere. Deadly. “You fucked it up, Robert. The way we both knew you would.”

*****

He stakes out one of her hair salons. He doesn’t even have to think about it. Chrissie’s a survivor, practical. Like him. It’s one of the things he likes best about her. Whatever else is going on in her life, she’ll keep on top of her business.

And he’s right. 

She’s dressed well, like always – impeccably made up, though Robert can see the small signs of strain –tension pulls her mouth, and even the way she moves, a bit preoccupied, lacks her usual innate confidence. As he draws closer, he catalogues that even her eyes seem duller, and he feels a fierce relief. Because those things suggest doubt, or at least regret. It means he has something to work with, an ‘in.’ 

She stiffens when she catches sight of him. Her head turns to the side and her jaw works, like she can’t even bear to look at Robert. He gives her no choice, crowding into her personal space until she grants him eye contact. “I thought Dad made it clear you weren’t to contact me again.”

“Yeah, well, given how he feels about me, is it any surprise I needed to hear it from you?”

“And now you have – so you can leave.” Tackling her here, in front of her business, has the advantage that she can’t pitch a proper fit…not without giving everyone a show unbefitting the calm, competent owner of a chain of hairdressing salons. Robert is very aware of the movement behind the glass window they’re stood in front of. A stylist waves at them, and he makes sure to wave back, friendly. 

_Just Mr and Mrs Sugden, having a normal, everyday conversation – nothing to see here._

“Aren’t you going to tell me what I’m supposed to have done, at least? Don’t I even deserve to know _why_?”

She laughs. “Oh. That’s right. Because you _don’t remember_. Of course.”

He tries, furiously, the way he’s been doing the last two days, to decide what she’s found out. He knows there’s _something_ – Chrissie’s not going to throw away almost six months of marriage on a whim – but he’s at a loss to know what it is, even as he hunts feverishly through his memory. That receptionist at that car dealership…the random bloke he’d picked up in that bar that one time…these are the most recent incidents he can think of – and both were ages ago. Before he and Chrissie were married, even. He’s at a loss as to how Chrissie would have found out about either of them.

They were just one night stands. _Only_ one night stands. He’s always been careful to keep it that way. 

“Well, just because you don’t remember, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! It doesn’t undo it! And it doesn’t make everything suddenly all right!” In spite of herself, Chrissie’s voice rises.

Robert abruptly changes tack, from wounded to conciliatory. “I’m not saying it does! But – tell me what I’ve done wrong, and I’ll fix it. Chrissie” –

“You can’t.” The certainty in her voice is chilling, even as he immediately tries to find a way around it. 

“You can’t expect me to just accept that! We’re married,” he points out. “You remember that, don’t you? Husband and wife? Till death us do part?”

“Or in this case, divorce,” she says. “Trust me, Robert – there is _nothing_ that you could do, that would ever persuade me to take you back.” She takes a step away from him. “So do me a favour, and don’t even try.”

Another step, and she keeps her eyes on him like she doesn’t even trust him not to try something there and then. “And Robert? Just a warning. If you come near me again – believe me, the first thing I’ll be doing is filing a restraining order.”

And with a steady _click click_ of her heeled boots, she leaves him standing outside the salon.

*****

He stays in the same hotel for a couple of days, pacing the carpet. Chrissie’s blocked his number, so that’s out. Lawrence and Lachlan…yeah, no point in even trying. He feels jittery, off-balance - he has for the past two days, since this whole thing started. There’s an itch under his skin, but it’s more than that. It’s like he’s missing something fundamental, some small, vital piece that keeps him in working order. He feels like a stopped clock.

In a way, it’s almost comforting. He holds on to it, tight. It’s proof. Proof that he loves Chrissie. Proof that he’s real, that his feelings are genuine.

That lasts well into the third day. On the fourth, the terrifying gape of aloneness gets to him, and he ends up going out and picking up a stranger. The sex is a distraction, even if there’s a hollowness at its centre.

He keeps coming back to the same thing, hitting up against the undeniable fact like a brick wall – if he only knew what he’d done (what Chrissie _knows_ he’s done)…he’s sure he could manage it. As it is, his mind whirs and churns, but there’s no purchase. He can’t scheme his way out of trouble if he’s got no idea what trouble he’s in. 

And all the while, this odd compulsion grows in him – to leave this hotel room, this town, Chrissie and Lawrence and Lachlan – and find his way back to somewhere older, more familiar.

It’s stupid. He’s not nostalgic – or at least, not to the point of showing up with his tail between his legs, and nothing to show for his years of absence besides a shaky marriage and a cheque from his father-in-law for far less than he’s worth. But the idea pulses insistently in his head – he can’t think, can’t even begin to solve his problem with Chrissie, and it’s not like _there_ could really be any worse than _here_ , when it all comes down to it. So he gives in with bad grace, even as he assures himself it’s just a temporary, tactical retreat, and that maybe a bit of space is exactly what he needs to fix his marriage.

He packs his bags and checks out of the hotel. 

_Home_ , he thinks. _It's where you go when there’s nothing else left._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Still used to getting your own way, aren’t you, Robert? Nice to know some things never change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read/kudos-ed/commented :)

Considering that the last time he was in Emmerdale was ten years ago (and that he hadn't even made it back for his father’s funeral), he should have expected the awkwardness. But the truth is, the high, tight thread of tension that twists through his meeting with his sister and stepmother – it sets his teeth on edge.

“Robert!” Diane says, abruptly unfreezing. It’s early in the morning, so The Woolpack is almost deserted. She plasters on a good-faith smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, as she comes out from behind the bar. “This is a – surprise.”

“A good one, I hope,” he says, with as much false good humour as he can manage. 

“Of course, love.” She exchanges a look with Victoria, even as she keeps up the charade of pleasantry. “Still…a bit of notice wouldn’t have gone amiss…”

“I called Victoria,” he says.

“Yeah – an hour before,” Diane says. “Hardly any time at all.” Her eyes dart uneasily around the bar, and Robert’s follow. 

“Time for what?”

She doesn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you what – next time, I’ll give you a couple of days notice, and you can throw me a party. Fair enough?”

“Next time…” Diane repeats, doing a poor job of hiding her dismay at the thought. 

Right then and there, he almost re-classes his impulse to be here as the mistake it so clearly is, except…

“Let’s sit down, shall we? Have a proper catch up, yeah?” Victoria takes his arm, tugging him over to the side, away from the couple having a conversation by the bar counter. In spite of the unease in her voice, there’s no hiding the essential warmth of her, radiating like perfume. He’s missed her, he realises. She’s his sister, and he hardly even knows her anymore – she was just a kid the last time he left, and what has there been since? Christmas cards, birthday texts – he’d even found out about her marriage well after the fact. 

Looked at coldly and logically, they’re next-door to strangers. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make the pang of longing he feels for her any less visceral. 

Which maybe she feels as well, because once they've all settled into a corner of The Woolpack, her eyes are wide and intent on his face when Diane says, with a kind of brittle geniality, “So – what brings you back here?”

It puts his back right up again. “What – I can’t just decide to visit my family for no reason?”

“That’s not what Diane means,” Victoria says, “Just…” she trails off, biting her lip like she doesn’t know what to say.

He puts his hand over hers, frustration undone by her uncertainty. He lowers his voice. “I know. It’s been a long time. And – I’m sorry about that. I am.”

She stares at him as he says, “That’s why I’m here, actually. I want to make it up to you.” He includes Diane as he adds, “To all of you.” Like so many of the things he says, it’s not even close to the messy, opaque truth. But right now, as he says it, it _feels_ true. Which makes it at least seem nobler than most of his lies. 

“What d’you mean?” Victoria says. She’s looking at him almost fearfully – like she expects what he’s saying might bring the roof down on them. 

“I’ve come home,” he tells her. “Here.”

“What? For-for good?”

 _Yes_.

“No,” he denies immediately, thrown oddly off kilter by the forceful way agreement had echoed through his body, like a shout, at Victoria’s assumption. This is just a tactical retreat. A few weeks and he’ll be ready to – to get his real life back. Get _Chrissie_ back. “Just temporary, but…I do want to spend some time here. With you. Everyone. Get to know you again, properly. I’ve missed out on a lot the last couple of years.”

He smiles at Victoria, who sits across from him, looking dazed. Fondness warms him. He could stand a few weeks of this. Getting to know his kid sister, for real. 

“That’s a very nice sentiment, Robert,” Diane cuts in, “but I really don’t know if it’s the best idea right now.”

The rejection, even cushioned by a sympathetic tone, stings him. “Why not?”

Diane takes a breath. “It’s…complicated. Just – trust me on this.”

Trust her – when she so clearly doesn’t trust him? “Well, thanks for the advice – but it’s not just your decision, is it?” He turns his attention back to Victoria. “What do you say, Vic?”

“Diane’s right,” she says quietly. 

The slap of it is such a shock, it doesn’t even hurt, though he can feel his face work. Victoria winces, and hurries to explain, “It’s not that it’s not good to see you, Rob, really it’s not. It’s just – things have been so weird lately…you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you.”

“Try me,” he challenges. And _now_ it starts to hurt, that sharp familiar ache at finding himself on the wrong side of the line drawn between ‘us’ and ‘them’, where Robert is once more the odd-man-out, even within his own family. He pushes it down.

Victoria looks at him with apologetic eyes. 

“Or not,” he mutters. “Seeing as you’ve already made up your mind.” He begins to get to his feet.

“Andy!” she blurts out. 

“Vic” – Diane begins, but Victoria stares her down, and says, “We’re worried about Andy.”

Robert sits back down.

“He hasn’t been right for months, not since” –

“Katie,” Robert finishes quietly. “I know. I can imagine.” 

It often seems like there’s a wall between past and present to Robert. _Right now_ is what’s important to him, always has been – and he rarely gets the urge to look back. Done is done. Still, he’d loved Katie once himself. It’s a dusty, faded thing now, and he hadn’t thought of her in years, before the accident – hadn’t even gone to her and Andy’s wedding (bit of a theme there, he realises, glancing at Victoria), but…

Part of him can still hardly believe she’s dead, if he’s honest. 

He looks at them. “I’m not completely heartless, you know. It’s not like I’ve come all the way here to kick him in the teeth.”

“We’re not saying that,” Diane says. “Just – he could do without any new upsets, that’s all.”

So he’s an inevitable _upset_. Nice. “Look at it like this,” he says, pulling out his most reasonable, most convincing tone. “It could be a fresh start for us too. Me and Andy, I mean. Give us a chance to move forward. We could be a proper family again.”

“You really want to stay here,” Victoria realises. "You _really_ do, don't you?" She's looking at him like she’s finally seeing him. It makes Robert feel oddly exposed, makes him backtrack, saying, “Yeah, well, don’t do me any favours,” even as panic flutters inside him at the thought of _not_ staying in Emmerdale. He glances between her and Diane, and fails to keep the bitterness from his voice as he says, “Family – the one place where they can’t kick you out. Well…usually.”

“Ey – no-one’s kicking anyone out of anything,” Diane says firmly.

“Not exactly welcoming me back with open arms, though, are you?” he points out. 

He can see from the expression on Victoria’s face that she’s melted into compliance, and so, when she turns to Diane, it’s only a matter of time before Diane sighs, shoulders slumping in submission, even as she manages a semi-tart, “Still used to getting your own way, aren’t you, Robert? Nice to know some things never change.” 

“We’ll sort something out, Diane,” Victoria assures her. “It’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” she says, pinning Robert with a familiar, assessing look – like despite giving in to her better nature, part of her can’t help but suspect him of trying to get something past her.

*****

A very short while later, Victoria introduces him to her husband, Adam – a cheery, loud bloke who Robert can tell within two minutes isn’t good enough for his sister.

Not that Vic herself seems to realise it. “Adam!” she says, surprised but clearly happy to see him. Robert can’t help but contrast it against her flustered, conflicted reaction upon seeing him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I got your message – just wanted to call in,” Adam says, bending down to kiss Victoria on the cheek – he doesn’t take his eyes off Robert as he does it. “Also, to say that as I was driving in, I saw Chas, heading this way. Just in case that, you know, means anything to anyone.”

Victoria twists around and behind the bar, Diane drops the tea-towel in her hand. “I’m on it,” she says, hurrying out the door.

“What’s that about?” Robert asks.

Victoria blows out a breath. “Don’t ask. Seriously. I don’t know how I’d even begin to explain it.”

Robert frowns, but Adam distracts him by putting his arm around her, and smiling at him. There’s something in his voice which sharpens the almost-genial, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fine,” Victoria says, then, at Robert’s raised eyebrows, “Oh! Right! Um…” she blows out a breath. “Robert, this is – Adam. My husband. Obviously. I don’t just let strange men go around kissing me all the time” –

Adam cuts off her nervous talk with a, “You’d better not, babe,” and pokes her in the side. She squirms. “And Adam, this is – is Robert. My brother. Who you – now know.”

“Right. Yeah,” Adam says, when she widens her eyes at him, and he offers a feeble, “Nice to finally meet you. I guess.” He blinks and shakes his head. 

There’s a silence. 

“Robert’s thinking of staying on here for a while,” Victoria says, poorly casual. 

Adam’s face goes blank, mouth gaping. “You what?!” He stares between her and Robert. 

“Thought I might make up for lost time. Get to know my little sister a bit better,” Robert says. He makes sure to smile, but there’s a hardness underneath it. Victoria’d been on side only a few minutes ago, but now she’s off-balace and uncertain again. It makes him narrow his eyes at Adam, who of course says -

“Is that really such a good idea?”

“It’s only for a while,” Victoria says. 

“Yeah, but still.” Adam’s voice is loaded with significance.

“You know, I don’t really see what it’s got to do with you,” Robert says, as maddeningly pleasant as he can manage. “Since I asked _Vic_ and she’s all right with it, your opinion seems sort of….irrelevant right now.” He tilts his head to the side and shrugs.

Victoria eyes him uneasily, but tells Adam, “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Yeah, but”-

“ _Later_.” This time he subsides at her glare.

“Right,” he says, all semblance of cheer gone, as he gets to his feet. “Well, I’d better go then, hadn’t I? Back to work, to make sure we’re all _braced for impact_. Since it turns out _he’s_ gonna be stopping for a while.”

“Adam” –

The unhappy look on Victoria’s face makes Robert stand and say, with falsely conciliatory spirit, “Look, Adam, mate – I don’t know what you’ve heard about me” –

“Heard, yeah.” Adam snorts. “I’ve _heard_ plenty. _Mate_.”

“– but I’m not here to cause any trouble.” It’s a bit _rich_ , given that Robert’s past is none of this guy’s business, but there’s Victoria to think about, and looking like the bigger man in front of her is incentive enough to keep his true feelings off his face.

“Yeah. I’ll believe that when I see it,” Adam mutters, before turning away.

Victoria sighs as he stomps out of the pub, though she says, with a lopsided smile that charms Robert, “Could’ve gone worse, I suppose.”

“Is he always like that?” he asks.

“No, he’s really not that bad. Once you” – she stops.

“What?”

“Get to know him,” she says, with a funny look on her face. She rubs her palms against her knees, brisk, and says, “Well, I’d better get back to work, or Marlon’ll explode.”

Robert follows her to the bar. “I meant it, you know,” he says. She turns toward him, inquiry on her face. “About not being here to cause trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, and taps his arm. “Since I’m personally vouching for you.”

“I’ll even do my best to stay out of Andy’s way, if he wants.” Robert considers it. “I’ll ask Diane if I can stay here, in the pub” – the thought comes to him in a flash. 

“No!”

He stares at her.

“That’s…no. You can’t stay here. No way.”

“What? Why not?” 

“It’s – full up. No room.”

“I don’t mind kipping on the sofa for a few nights,” he finds himself saying – a bald-faced lie, because he very much minds – but there’s a weird kind of appeal to the idea of staying here that he’s reluctant to give up.

“You’ll stay with us, at Keeper’s Cottage,” Victoria says firmly.

“Yeah, but isn’t Andy living there too? Won’t he” –

“He’ll be fine,” Victoria says. It’s less than convincing, but she adds, “Besides, it’ll give us a head start on that ‘becoming a real family’ idea of yours.” She catches his eye and tells him, very definitely, “I insist.”

It’s the kind of tone that suggests an imminent coming to of senses and revoking of sisterly support if not immediately agreed with, so Robert shrugs and says, “Suit yourself – but if Andy kicks off, it’s not my fault.” It was just a meaningless fancy, anyway. 

Victoria’s fingers play on the counter surface as she says, “So…Chrissie’s not here, and it’s not sounding like she’s going to be joining you anytime soon. Should I even ask?”

He doesn’t answer. 

“What’s happened?” she presses.

“Nothing.”

She cocks her head to the side, sceptical, and he gives in. “Fine! She left me, all right?”

“What? When?”

“Two days ago, if you must know. No warning, nothing.”

Victoria’s response to this is oddly, not sympathy. Instead, she crosses her arms, and says, “So, coming down here - all that stuff about making up for lost time and getting to know us again was” –

“The truth,” Robert says, holding eye contact.

Victoria scoffs.

“It is.” Every fibre of his being focuses on persuading her. “Come on, Vic – I’m not lying. And this thing, with Chrissie…it’s nothing to worry about. Teething troubles. That’s all. I just – need a bit of a break while I get my head clear. And – this is the first place I thought of. Because,” he searches for an explanation, and settles for, “this is home. And that’s the truth, whether you believe me or not.”

Victoria looks at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get with you, isn't it?" she eventually decides. Then, “Oh, come on – I’ll make you something to eat.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, that’s the thing about second chances, Robert. Usually, you only get them the once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh sweet, sweet neverending setup. I always forget how much writing it takes to get to the good bits :/

Victoria makes him wait on the doorstep while she talks to Andy. “Just - stay there, all right?” she says, one hand held up like a stop sign. At the look on Robert’s face, she says, “I _mean_ it, okay? You can’t just waltz in out of the blue, like – like nothing’s happened.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Robert says, nettled. 

“Andy deserves a bit of consideration,” she says, ignoring him. “So park yourself and don’t move – and I’ll come and get you when the dust’s settled.”

“Right,” Robert mutters, feeling like human Ebola – a fatal diagnosis that has to be broken to people gently. Vic makes a sort of apologetic face, but it doesn’t matter how softly she does it, she still closes the door on him. And then he’s stood outside, scuffing his feet and waiting for Andy to decide whether he’s good enough to be let in. 

It doesn’t just hit close to home. It _is_ home, in a horrible way that he flinches away from…and _why_ is he here again? But something keeps him rooted to the spot – pride, maybe. Or stubbornness.

Finally, Victoria reappears, and ushers him inside the house. “He’s in the kitchen,” she says. She looks like she wants to say something else, but it isn’t until they’re at the kitchen door that she turns back, almost knocking into Robert, and says, in a low voice, “Just don’t – make a big deal, all right?”

It’s still a shock when he enters. Andy’s leaning on his hands, by the sink, and it takes him a second to turn around. But when he does – it floors Robert. He looks at once like the Andy Robert remembers, an Andy-plus-ten-years…and yet like a complete stranger at the same time.

“Andy…” he says. He can hear how thrown he is. 

“Robert,” Andy acknowledges. His voice is very even. His face seems almost impassive, except for the furrow between his eyebrows and the small jump of his jaw. There’s a silence before he adds, “You’re back.”

“Looks like it,” Robert says, then – he can’t help it, “If _you_ don’t mind, of course.” He makes it light, like he’s asking as a courtesy, to make Andy feel as if he matters. But the truth is, Andy _always_ matters, and it’s only when they’re not standing in the same room that Robert can keep up the pretence that he doesn’t. 

“Nothing to do with me,” Andy says, with the barest shrug. 

He’s just skin stretched tight over grief. He looks like he has to concentrate on breathing, like even the smallest movements take unimaginable effort. He’s – broken. A broken man. Robert stares at him, thoughts whirlpooling in his brain, making him feel dizzy and sick.

Years ago, he’d spent so much time trying to accomplish just this…trying every trick he knew to bring Andy to his knees, and now – now that he’s seen what that really _means_ …

He hates seeing Andy like this. And...he wishes _he_ were the one responsible for making Andy look this way. He holds on to both of these oddly sincere feelings and tries not to get emotional whiplash from the contradiction. 

“But stay, if you want. It really doesn’t matter to me,” Andy continues. “I’m past caring what you do. I’ve more important things on my mind right now.”

And Robert feels, in some indefinable way, that Andy has won again – simply by being himself. Because Robert had loved Katie too, once…but obviously, Andy’d loved her more. He feels a familiar coil of shame and guilt and resentment in his gut – hating that Andy makes him want his acceptance. Powerless to stop himself wanting it anyway. 

“Look – I’ve come here because…I want a fresh start,” Robert finds himself saying. “A second chance. And that includes you. I’d like to start over – if you want.”

He holds out his hand.

Andy looks him up and down. Finally, he says, “Well, that’s the thing about second chances, Robert. Usually, you only get them the once.”

He brushes past Robert. 

“Andy,” Robert calls when his brother reaches the doorway. “I’m sorry.”

Andy stops.

“About Katie. I was sorry to hear about Katie.”

“ _Robert_ ,” Victoria warns, quietly, but Robert presses forward. “I mean it. I _am_ sorry. No-one should have to go through that.”

Andy stays very still, and doesn’t look at him – but he nods, once, before he leaves the kitchen, moving like his bones are creaking. 

It’s acknowledgment, not acceptance. But Robert seizes on it anyway, because it’s the habit of a lifetime to take whatever he can get.

Victoria blows out a long breath as if she’s been holding it, and says, “I suppose it’s a start.”

*****

And like that, it’s all over, well, bar the moving in – which he uses as an excuse to avoid what is bound to be a supremely awkward family meal. Probably best for him and Andy to skip any activities that involve knives for the sake of the new, tentatively broached peace. He lies on the bed – his bed for the moment, and stares up at the ceiling. He must be more tired than he thinks, because he closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them again, it’s dark.

He runs a hand over his face before making his way back to the kitchen for something to drink. The light’s still on, and he can hear Adam and Victoria talking. It’s evident from both their tones that _‘Later’_ has finally arrived. Robert drifts closer to the door in time to hear –

“-take it?” Vic is saying in a hushed voice.

“How’d you think?” Adam asks. 

Victoria sighs.

“And just when things was starting to get back to normal, too.”

“Don’t, Adam. I feel bad enough as it is.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do! Believe me, I know how awkward this is. But he’s my _brother_. I can’t just – cut him out of my life when he’s like this.”

Robert can’t even classify the thin ache that flashes through his chest. 

“Yeah, well, I just hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all.”

“Not a clue!” Victoria says with a kind of reckless cheer. “I’m a ‘fly by the seat of my pants and hope it all works out’ girl. And don’t you go looking at me like that – if you didn’t like it, you shouldn’t have married me, should you?”

The soft silence that follows indicates a satisfactory end to an argument – which Robert is only too happy to interrupt, since when he walks into the kitchen, his sister is pressed against the table, hands around Adam’s shoulders, leaning in for another kiss. Victoria jumps a little at the sight of him, and pushes Adam away.

“Robert!” she says. “What are you doing?”

He gestures at the sink. “Getting a drink of water,” he looks between them, “– if that’s all right. Not interrupting anything, am I?”

Adam and Victoria exchange a look, before Victoria nods toward the door. “Why don’t you head on to bed – I’ll be there in a minute. And Rob, I’ll make you a cuppa, eh?”

Adam stays standing for a minute, eyeing Robert, before giving in with clear reluctance. Robert has no idea what nefarious activity he’s meant to pull off with a kettle and some PG Tips, and obviously his brother-in-law can’t think of anything either, because he finally gives in and shuffles off. Victoria takes her time dropping in teabags and pouring boiling water into two mugs, and says, conversationally, “Were you listening at the door just now?”

“What? No,” Robert says.

“Because you know what they say about eavesdroppers. They never overhear anything good.” She hands him his mug, and drops into the chair next to him. 

Robert stares down into it, and says flatly, “By which you mean you and Adam were trashing me behind my back.”

“Uh… _no_ ,” Victoria says. “That’s not it at all.”

“It’s all right. I’m used to it by now,” Robert says. He can feel his voice edging into self-pity. 

“Yeah…cue the violins,” Victoria says, in a way that somehow manages to straddle the line between unsympathetic and affectionate. “What I _mean_ is, there’s got to be boundaries, Robert. And you’ve got to promise to respect them.”

“Well, if you were so concerned about ‘boundaries’ maybe you should have let me ask Diane if I could stay at The Woolpack,” Robert said. “No chance of overhearing you and Adam then.”

Victoria just frowns at him, and he capitulates with bad grace, “Fine. Boundaries. I understand.”

“Good,” she says. The frown’s still there, but she shakes her head as if to clear it, then bumps her shoulder against his. “Hey,” she says. He looks at her. “I _am_ glad you’re here, you know.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

They finish their tea in companionable silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert smiles his most charming smile, suddenly determined to get Hoodie’s full attention, even if it’s only for a second.

After a night of thick, deep sleep, he unglues his eyelids late the next morning. He still has that weird, off-kilter feeling as he dresses and leaves the room, only to run into Victoria almost directly outside the door.

“Finally,” she says. “I was starting to think you were hibernating.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asks. 

“Took a few days off, specially for you,” she says cheerfully. Then adds, off-hand, “And also because Marlon’s been doing my head in lately, and I could do with the break.”

“So I’m just an alibi. That’s flattering – cheers.” This - the teasing, the back and forth – is easy. Natural. Like they’ve fallen back into a rhythm that they’d never even properly established, considering that the last time they’d seen each other she’d been, what – eleven? It’s probably more than he deserves, to be perfectly honest. 

Though he makes it a habit never to be perfectly honest anyway.

“It’s just some time off, not a war crime,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. “Come on – have some breakfast and we can get started.”

“On what?” he asks as he trails behind her.

*****

Apparently, what Victoria has in mind is a family bonding session, which translates to a long wander around the village, talking about what things have changed, and contrasting those against the things that have stayed the same. It’s like being in a live-action spot the difference picture.

And, of course, family bonding time would be meaningless without a parental visit, so they end up in the village cemetery. The most recent grave that’s been dug is covered in flowers.

“Andy comes here a lot,” Victoria says. “I think it helps him, a bit. Well, as much as anything does.”

“So…how he is now – that’s progress?” Robert asks, a bit disbelieving. 

“Compared to how he _was_ , yeah. It is,” Victoria says. She sighs. “The thing is he’s not gonna be like this forever. He’s young – he’s gonna want to…move on, meet someone else. Maybe not now, but eventually. Sometimes I think that’s the hardest thing for him to deal with. Like – he’s never going to forget Katie, I’m not saying that…but it’s like he feels that even wanting to be alive is betraying her memory.”

They stand in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, attention drifting back to the older gravestones.

“Do you think you ever really get to a point where you feel all right about it?” Victoria asks. She’s not addressing him specifically, but both of them.

“What?” he asks, though he thinks he already knows.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m not happy – I am. And I’m not being all ‘look at poor me’ or anything, but…it’s just _there_ , isn’t it? And not just birthdays, and Christmas…weddings – the times you expect it to be, you know? Like, sometimes, I’ll just be going about my day, and out of the blue, I’ll think about Dad. Or Mum. Just wonder what advice they’d give me. What they’d make of me.”

Robert looks down at the top of her head and says, “They’d be proud of you, of course.”

“Well, obviously. That’s basically their job, isn’t it? Parents.”

He stares at the headstone in front of them. He can feel Vic looking at him. “He’d be glad you came home,” she says quietly, leaning in to him. “Even if it’s only for a visit.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come here for him,” Robert says. It’s been years, but the urge to close down, to lash out is as strong as ever. _Beloved husband, father and grandfather_. If, as Victoria says, it’s a parent’s duty to be proud, he wonders who fell down on the job there – Jack, or him. _A Good Man At Rest In The Good Earth_. If the last thing _A Good Man_ could find to say about Robert was, ‘I don’t hate you,’ well…what does that say about his goodness? 

What does it say about _Robert’s_?

It’s the sort of thing he never thinks about if he can help it, shifting on his feet, and maybe Victoria notices, because she changes the subject slightly. “It’s almost worse with Mum. Because I was so young when she died. It’s like I didn’t even really know her, not properly. So I miss her, course I do, but…it’s different to Dad. Because I don’t even really know what I’m missing. It’s like that saying, isn’t it? You can’t miss what you’ve never had. Except – you can, can’t you? Because I do. I miss all the things she never said to me. I miss all the things she’s never going to say.”

He imagines he can feel the disapproval radiating from six feet underground. He’s never going to change Jack’s mind now. Done is done. Past is past. It’s all right, mostly, because it has to be. He’s not come back here on account of a few scabbed over bad memories – not his style. Though it’s a nice thought on Vic’s part. 

A bit pathetic, mind.

*****

They stop for lunch in the café, where for some reason, Bob Hope’s version of small talk turns out to comprise almost entirely of non-sequiturs about brain surgery.

“Wonderful what doctors can do these days, isn’t it?” he says. And, “You know, I read somewhere that the brain makes up two percent of our body weight, but it uses up about a quarter of our energy. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“If you say so,” Robert says. When he goes to pick up his coffee from the counter, Bob stops him.

“Hey now – I’ll carry that,” he says. “Let me do the heavy lifting, eh?” He moves all of six feet and deposits the coffee on a table, before smiling encouragingly at Robert and Victoria.

“Has he _had_ brain surgery recently?” Robert asks in a low voice when he’s safely behind the counter again.

She scrunches up her chin and mouth, blows out a breath. “Not that I know of, no,” she says.

*****

Victoria hurries him past the garage when he slows.

“Don’t know what you’d want to hang around here for,” she says, pulling him away by the arm.

“Used to work there, didn’t I?” he says, craning his neck to look back, but Vic just keeps going.

*****

The thing about quality time, though, is that it can’t really be scheduled. Plus, Emmerdale’s not exactly expansive…there’s not a lot of _there_ there, and a day of nostalgic reminiscing is about all it can support. So, by day two, they’ve run out of things to do, and they end up curled on the sofa, watching trashy TV.

“One good thing about this,” Victoria says, as Jeremy Kyle berates a criminal for his poor life choices, “…it makes us look positively normal.”

“We’re Sugdens,” Robert tells her lazily. “We’re better than normal.”

“If that’s your attitude, it explains a lot,” she says, then frowns at the screen. “Do you think he’ll pass the polygraph?”

It isn’t until later that evening, when she’s considering whether she can get away with taking another day off, that he realises what she’s doing. His stomach turns, sour, and he says, as lightly as he can manage, “You know, you can’t keep me on a leash the whole time I’m here.”

“What – I’m not” – Victoria trails off under his disbelieving gaze. That’s the thing about second chances, Robert’s always found. No matter how much he wants them, they always end up feeling a bit grubby and worn, like they’ve got the letdown already built into them.

“Not to mention, all that talk about boundaries isn’t going to matter if you won’t even give me a chance to prove myself,” he adds, sensing an advantage and pressing it.

“All right, all right – you’ve made your point.” 

Sincerity now, wheedling and persuasive. Other people might balk, but even if he’s using it to further his own ends doesn’t make it not sincere. “Look, Vic, I’m not saying that I won’t mess this up. I’m only human and I can’t promise that” –

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“– but I want to _try_ , at least.”

Victoria softens.

*****

The next morning and it’s –

“Back to reality,” his sister says, as she hunts for her purse. Adam’s sitting at the table tearing into a slice of toast with messy bites, and frowning in Robert’s direction when he remembers. Andy’s not shown up to breakfast, long gone by the time Robert descended the stairs.

“He said he wanted to make an early start,” Victoria tells Robert, as he pulls out a chair and sits. She doesn’t sound like she believes it either.

“Right,” Robert says. “Any idea when the silent treatment’s going to end?”

“Come on – you didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” Victoria finally locates her purse and holds it aloft in triumph, before asking, casually, “So – what are you going to do today?”

Robert shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“You’re not telling us that you’ve not got some plan up your sleeve,” Adam interjects. They stare at him, and Adam shrugs at Victoria. “Come on babe, you know you were thinking it.”

The thing is…he’d nearly rather have some scheme brewing than this intense, salmon-swimming-upstream instinct to...to…he doesn’t even _know_. It’s disconcerting. Not that he’d ever let Adam Barton know that. He pours himself a cup of tea and reaches for the milk. “You know, when I decided to come back, I really didn’t think about it in those terms. It was more of an impulse.”

“Right – because it’s not like acting on impulse ever got you into any trouble before,” Adam mumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry – did you say something?” Robert says, making sure to keep eye contact until Adam has to turn his head. Judgmental little shit. He returns to Victoria. “Look, I’ll call in to see you at lunch, all right?”

When he glances up, it’s to find Victoria and Adam in the middle of a Look.

“ _What_?” he says. It’s early in the morning and he’s already on edge.

“Yeah. About that…” Vic says. 

“No, don’t tell me, let me guess – I’m pre-emptively barred from my local on account of my potential future crimes. Why not just write me off completely – it’d save time.”

“Don’t be daft,” Victoria says. “But – there is a problem. It’s Chas.”

“Chas?” Robert repeats. “Who? Chas _Dingle_ , Diane’s partner? Not seeing the problem here.”

“She hates your guts, mate,” Adam informs him, with a little too much satisfaction.

“What? Why? I’ve not done anything to her.” He actually enjoys the rush of aggrieved innocence. It’s nice not having to fake it, for once. “How can she hate me?”

“Maybe she’s just a really good judge of character,” Adam suggests. 

“Meaning Diane’s been having a moan about me." Robert keeps his eyes on Victoria, who shakes her head but says nothing. It’s ridiculous – Emmerdale’s not changed so much he can blithely accept being judged and found wanting by a _Dingle_. 

“So – what? You seriously want me to stay away from my family’s pub because a near-stranger has decided she doesn’t like my face?”

“No, nothing like that. Diane’s talked to her” –

“Obviously,” Robert says. 

“– which should help…in theory…but we all think it’d be a good idea if you tried to steer clear. Not saying don’t come in to the pub” –

“– just don’t order any drinks from this woman, who, need I remind you, I’ve done nothing to!”

“Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way, shall we?” Victoria says. 

“So, what – we’re just going to humour this random person’s delusions?”

“Why not? That seems to be what we do now,” Adam mutters. 

Victoria slings her purse over her shoulder, kisses Adam on the cheek with an audible smacking sound, and tells Robert, “Try to stay out of trouble!” the way other people say, “Have a nice day!”

*****

So he finally has the house to himself, and that’s a good thing. Gives him time to start finally getting to grips with this thing with Chrissie and start working out a plan of action. As nice as this stroll down memory lane has been, it’s not like he’s here in Emmerdale long-term.

Except trying to think through his problem with Chrissie is like going round and round on a hamster wheel, because he doesn’t even _know_ what the problem is. So how can he fix it? 

He drums his fingers on the kitchen table. He _will_ fix it, obviously. Being here, well, he has to look at it as – motivation. Because if it’s a choice between finding a way to fix things with Chrissie, or staying here in Emmerdale (sudden inexplicable burst of nostalgia aside)…well. Obviously, he’s going to find a way to fix things with Chrissie.

The thing that really gets to him though, is this thing with Diane’s partner. It’s this constant nag at the back of his brain. Just who does this woman think she _is_ , judging him? Without any firsthand evidence, even. 

He might be at a temporary standstill regarding Chrissie and his marriage, but there’s no way he’s going to slink around the place, head hanging, just to accommodate Chas bloody Dingle.

*****

_When in doubt, brazen it out_ has always been Robert’s motto (well, maybe less a motto than a hardwired defence mechanism), and he sees no reason to change it now. So he wanders in to The Woolpack a good half-hour before he’s due to meet Victoria. Luckily, Diane’s nowhere to be seen, and it’s fairly quiet. Robert has a vague memory of the woman behind the bar, now sporting a heavy fringe…besides, she keeps throwing looks at him like acid (in between carrying on what seems to be an intense whispered argument with a guy in a black hoodie who’s sat up by the counter), so it’s a good bet that she’s Chas.

Robert strolls over from his table and leans up by the bar. Chas glares. 

“I’d like a pint,” he says, oddly aware of the hoodie-clad audience to this potential standoff. Hoodie, on the other hand seems stoically inattentive to the undercurrent of tension, and just keeps staring down into his drink. 

“I _said_ , I’d like a pint,” Robert repeats, challenge clear in his tone. 

“I don’t believe this,” she says, shaking her head. Robert can’t tell whether she’s addressing him, Hoodie, or just carrying on a conversation with herself.

“Really?” Robert says. “Because I’d have thought it was a common enough order in a _pub_.”

She folds her arms, deliberately. 

“You do know there’s a reason it’s called the service industry, right?” Robert continues. “If you’ve got a problem with that, then maybe you’re in the wrong job.”

“Think you’re _so_ clever don’t you?” Chas says. “Well let me tell you something” –

Hoodie interrupts, startling them both. “You heard him. A pint,” he says, in a low, gruff voice that catches and snags Robert’s attention. And Chas’, if her dumbfounded look is any indication.

“ _You what_?” she says, managing to sound both stunned and somewhat homicidal at the same time. It seems like Robert has been replaced as public enemy number one, for the moment at least, as she turns one of those paint-stripping looks on Hoodie. “You are _not_ seriously suggesting that I” –

“Either you get it, or I will.” Hoodie stares her down, but it isn’t until he shifts on his stool that Chas makes a move, filling a pint glass, and then slamming it down in front of Robert with such force that half of it spills on the counter. Then she whirls around, and stomps off out back. 

Robert moves the remains of his pint out of the puddle on the countertop. “Thanks,” he says, looking his unlikely saviour over. Hoodie has close-cropped dark hair and a beard, a straight nose – Robert assesses him with a covert, efficient onceover. Definitely on the scruffier end of the spectrum, but luckily it works for the guy. 

Hoodie lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, evidently all the acknowledgment he’s going to give, and turns back to his own pint. The minute jerk of the muscles in his jaw is the only thing that gives away his awareness of Robert’s continued scrutiny.

“Is she like that all the time?” Robert asks, indicating the place where Chas had been standing mere moments before.

Another shrug. Hoodie still doesn’t look at him as he says, “Probably not the person to ask. She’s me mum, so…”

“So I should probably keep my mouth shut, right?” Robert smiles his most charming smile, suddenly determined to get Hoodie’s full attention, even if it’s only for a second. 

“It’d be a start,” Hoodie says, with a tiny dip of his head and a deadpan affect that tips Robert into amusement. 

He doesn’t even think about it, just sticks out his hand. “Robert,” he says. 

_That_ gets Hoodie’s attention. He stares between the hand Robert’s held out and Robert’s face with disbelieving blue eyes for a very long moment. Then, with an audible scrape of his stool, he gets to his feet. Robert thinks for a fraction of a second that Hoodie’s going to shove him, rough him up, because his body’s wound tight and his face is like a clenched fist. But the reality is more anticlimactic…and oddly, somehow even worse. 

Without another word or glance, he stalks past Robert, and out of the pub, leaving his half-finished pint behind him.

Of course, he only has a moment to parse this before Victoria’s bursting out from the kitchen and into the bar, all guns blazing. “Not even one day!” she says, grabbing the tea towel that’s hung over her shoulder, and flicking it at him with more passion than accuracy. 

He smartly removes his hands from the counter and the line of fire. “D’you mind keeping it down?” he asks, casting a glance back at the three other people at the back of the pub.

“Oh, _now_ you’re worried about causing a scene! You couldn’t even go _one day_ without totally ignoring every single thing I said!”

“Vic” – 

“Of course, _of course_ you came and had a go at Chas – who, by the way, is _spitting_ back there – _of course_ you did. I don’t know why I even expected otherwise. And _of course_ Aaron was here when you did it, because my life’s just one long worst case scenario right now, and” –

“Aaron?” Robert interrupts. “That’s the bloke who just stormed out for no reason? Chas’ son? Well I can see where he gets it from. Obviously runs in the family, doesn’t it?” So that’s Hoodie’s name. _Aaron._

Victoria ignores his digression. “You are unbelievable – d’you know that?”

“I don’t see why you’re having a go at me!” Robert defends. “I’m not the one making a big deal out of filling a simple drink order. In a _pub_ , by the way. My _family_ pub, as it happens.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what _is_ the point?” he asks, spreading his arms wide. “Come on then, enlighten me. Because unless you give me a bloody good reason, I’m not going to tiptoe around someone I don’t even know well enough to inconvenience, let alone actually hurt.” In a lower voice, he adds, “I get enough stick about the things I _have_ done, without heaping on extra just for the fun of it.”

“You…you _just_ ” – Victoria stares at him, and shakes her head, before abruptly wheeling away, back behind the bar. “You know what? I just _can’t_ right now,” he hears her say as she marches out the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn legacy families. My eyes are crossed from reading the Emmerdale wiki. Man, but these people live lives crowded with incident :) Also, if anyone's looking at Bob and thinking, "Bob. Bob knows. Really," I'm headcanoning that Carly looks after April - Marlon works in The Woolpack, where there were bound to be heated conversations about memory erasing, and things slipped out along the line, ultimately leading to Bob knowing. Or, alternatively...it's a fanfic, idek if anyone cares. Thanks for reading, anyone who...has read this far :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, tell me about,” the technician consulted her clipboard, “Aaron Livesy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short flashback scene. Also changed the ending of chapter 4- I had it planned out that Robert would find out Aaron's name at the start of chapter 6, but I think it reads more smoothly this way. Once more, thank you so much to anyone who has read, kudos-ed or commented...you made my day :)

“So, tell me about,” the technician consulted her clipboard, “Aaron Livesy.”

“Is that really necessary? I mean, I’ve come here to forget him, after all.” In spite of his exasperation, he injected as much charm into the words as possible - his best, 'you know you want to give me a good deal' tone.

“It’s a vital part of the process, actually,” the tech said. “Sorry, but…we need the whole story in order to map out the areas we want to target. At the very least, we need the outline of the whole story. It’s best to be specific, given that it’s, you know, your _brain_ we’re talking about.”

He offered her a tight smile. “Right,” he said.

Her expression was not unsympathetic. “If it helps, this is all confidential. And, all going well, after tonight, you won’t even remember having told me, so…”

At the look on his face, she leaned forwards, across the desk that separated them. “Look, I very much doubt that whatever you’ve got to say will shock me. We’ve had all sorts here.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t believe me?” She glanced around as if to verify that they were alone in the room before confiding, “Last month, I did this couple – both’d been cheating, wife’d made arrangements to leave the husband and everything, only guess what? She finds out she’s pregnant, doesn’t know whose it is, and it turns out Mr Affair’s not on board with being a baby daddy just yet – specially if there’s a chance the baby might not be his. So in the end they both – wife and husband – come here to erase the memories of their extra-maritals. For a fresh start, you know.” She looked Robert up and down. “I doubt you’ll top that. So – knock yourself out. Seriously. You probably won’t even crack my top ten.”

“Are you supposed to give out details like that? I’d’ve thought it was a breach of confidentiality,” Robert said. 

The tech stared at him, unimpressed. “Whose? Considering that, if you ask _them_ , it never even happened.”

She wasn’t the most professional looking person to begin with – hair pulled sloppily back, and an inky stain on the pocket of her white coat. The desk – _her_ desk, he presumed – was a clutter of pens and papers and files stacked high to the side. It only increased his misgivings.

She sighed. “Look, if you’re having second thoughts” –

“I’m not,” he snapped.

“– that’s fine, but – word of advice? Pull out now. That way, you get to keep your memories, and I have enough time to ring around and book someone else into your slot tonight. You wouldn’t believe the waiting list I’ve got.”

“Queueing up, are they?”

“It’s hectic. So if you’re not sure” –

“I am,” he sounded very far away to his own ears. “Certain.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Just…when you’re doing it, do you – see everything?” In his mind, he heard the sickening give of rotten floorboards, Katie’s scream. 

Katie’s silence.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” the technician asked, then, without waiting for an answer, “No, it’s all machines. This one,” she indicated the one in the corner, “gives us a readout of your emotional response as you go through your memories – which allows us to pinpoint the areas we want to…zap. For want of a better term. Then tonight, we come along with our portable friend,” she pointed at something that looked like the top half of a space helmet, fused with a colander, “and do the actual removing. Targeted memories only, obviously – we don’t touch anything else.”

“But you don’t actually see anything?” Robert persisted.

“It’s all numbers on a screen to us. Believe me, I wouldn’t have gone in for this job if it involved all-nighters watching _Days of Our Lives_ ,” the technician said. “You couldn’t pay me enough for that. It’s the first thing you learn in this line of work – with occasional exceptions, most people’s lives are way more boring than you think. Even the people who come here.” 

She eyed Robert. “So – you staying, or going?”

There was a beat where he felt weightless, unconnected to his body – like he was looking down on himself from the ceiling. But it came out easily enough, “Staying.”

“All right,” the technician said. She raised her eyebrows. “So,” she consulted her clipboard again, “Aaron Livesy?”

“Right,” Robert said, making himself comfortable in his seat. “Right.” _No going back now_. “Well…it was – sexual.” The words pulled out of him like toffee, but at least they came. 

He was surprised at the technician’s grin. “I should hope so,” she said. “Would’ve been a bit of a crap affair otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

At Robert’s look she held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry – go on.”

“Well, that’s exactly what it was,” he said. “An affair. It just - got a bit out of hand, that’s all.”

“Okay,” she said. Her almost total disinterest was reassuring and irritating at the same time. “I still need you to tell me a bit about Aaron. For,” she nodded at the machine, “science, and all that.”

Robert thought about his eyebrows, and the way they went almost straight when pulled into a frown, the low thrum of his voice, his odd mix of solidity and fragility.

“Not much to tell,” he heard himself say. “He was nobody special.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is you building bridges then, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best thing about starting this fic is the fact that it's made me read so much of the Emmerdale wiki. EVERYONE in Emmerdale is a terrible person, basically. The sweetest, most blameless person in that village has committed at least one unforgivable-in-the-real-world act. If April's not a member of a flesh-eating cult right now...well, it's only a matter of time. It all gives me hope for Robert and Aaron.

That evening, he and Andy run into each other in the kitchen. Robert doesn’t know why he’s so surprised – they’re living in the same house, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Still, he’s caught off guard, mostly because for the past three days, Andy’s managed to inhabit the same space as Robert, while simultaneously never being in the same room as him – like a ghost who is too socially anxious to get around to any actual haunting.

There’s a split-second’s hesitation when he sees Robert sat at the kitchen table, but his face sets and then Andy’s pushing past and over to the kettle.

“It’s hot,” Robert tells him.

Another hesitation, before the sound of tea-making commences. “Good day?” Robert asks, without turning his head, weirdly goaded by the silence.

He doesn’t think Andy’s going to answer him, has a stinging rejoinder all picked out, actually (the only good thing about being on the receiving end of the silent treatment is that he’s guaranteed to get the last word), when Andy says, “Not as good as you, apparently. I hear you’ve been causing quite a stir.”

Robert does turn then, and Andy takes a sip of tea, with a deliberate calm that gets straight under Robert’s skin and starts itching. The way Andy always, _always_ manages to do – and it never stops stinging. Mostly because it seems like he’s not even _trying_. 

“Right,” Robert says shortly, as he gets to his feet. “If all you want to do is have a go, I think I’d prefer it if you went back to ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” Andy says, and Robert takes a kind of satisfaction in the flicker of his face. If Andy can twist him up so easily, the least Robert’s owed in return is a reaction. 

“That’s not what it’s looked like, the last couple of days. More like you were scared to even be in the same room,” Robert says. And because he’s never been good at holding back, “Andy, you were practically hiding behind the curtains. Don’t tell me that’s normal for you now.”

Andy looks at him, and voice low and loaded, says, “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

The guilt hits with the same _bang_ Andy’s mug gives as it hits the table –

“Andy – I didn’t mean it” – Robert says, and he makes a grab for Andy’s arm, but he just shrugs Robert off, as he strides out of the kitchen. Robert follows, calling, “ _Andy!_ I said I didn’t mean” –

He almost runs into Adam by the door, and the thump of Andy’s feet on the stairs doesn’t even slow. Yeah, looks like they’re back to the silent treatment again. 

“This is you building bridges then, is it?” Adam observes, arms folded over his chest.

*****

“So…that was our first fight,” Vic offers, when they meet on the stairs still later. “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

She’s got her foot poised on the first step and she looks tired. Robert’s at the top of the staircase, and his hair is still damp from the shower he’s just had. She takes him in, and decides, “I think I’m glad we’ve got it out of the way, to be honest. Mostly. Probably.”

She sighs, turns and sits down on the third step of the stairs. After a moment, Robert gingerly thumps his way down to join her. “Does this mean I _don’t_ have to bend myself over backwards, saying sorry for things that aren’t my fault?”

“What’s the point?” Vic says. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t mean it.”

“That’s true,” he acknowledges with a tilt of his head. 

She stares down at her hands, while Robert waits in silence for whatever is coming. Finally, her shoulder slides against his arm as she turns, fixing wide hazel eyes on his, “Rob…I’ve taken a real chance on you, you know.” 

“Vic” – he starts, but she keeps talking.

“I’m not looking for thanks, or gratitude or anything like that, because you’re my _brother_ , and I love ya, even when you’re being stupid. So, if this is where you feel you need to be, then – you should be here. Just…”

She blows out a breath before aiming her vulnerability at him, full force, like the devastating weapon it is, “…please, Rob – don’t let me down?”

*****

Everyone’s got something to do. Andy’s busy on the farm, and busy avoiding Robert when he’s _not_ on the farm. Vic and Adam have their jobs (and every so often Robert has to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Adam Barton runs a business called _Holey Scrap_ ). It all leaves Robert at a loose end, waiting for something to happen.

Mostly, this means two days straight watching TV, though he does walk out to Home Farm on the afternoon of the second day. Just for variety, though he has to admit as he looks at the vast property, hands fisted in his pockets, that if he’d ever imagined coming back – _this_ is what he would have pictured. Owner of a huge estate, money to burn, Chrissie by his side. As a fantasy, it’s got ‘staying in sister’s house on sufferance, nursing a badly dented marriage’ beaten hands down.

The most exciting thing that happens is that Diane comes to tea that evening. Adam disappears, but this is obviously pre-planned, as Victoria says brightly, “Family night!” She grabs Robert and makes him set the table, and even manages to get Andy to sit down with them. As she dishes up, and Diane chats to her about The Woolpack menu, Andy’s got this small frown on his face – not annoyance or irritation so much as confusion. It makes Robert say in a low voice, “You got ambushed too?”

Andy looks at him, and Robert can see the second he decides to play along. “Don’t know if I’d say ‘ambushed’.”

The _‘to her face’_ is unspoken, but clear, and the corners of Robert’s mouth twitch. It’s not exactly a truce between them – more of a temporary ceasefire, but it’s enough to make Victoria beam as she sits down. And even though Andy begs off as soon as his plate’s cleared, she doesn’t seem disappointed – especially when Andy mentions meeting friends in the pub.

“That’s good!” she says, with way too much enthusiasm, which makes the moment awkward.

“I’m glad you think so,” Andy says, with a game smile.

“Have a nice time, love,” Diane tells him, and if there’s sympathy in her tone, she does a better job of masking it than Victoria. When they hear the door close, she says, to Vic, “It takes time.”

“I know. I just – hate seeing him like this,” Victoria says, as she stands and starts collecting the plates. 

“He’s grieving.”

“Yeah, and I respect that. I do. I just – don’t want him to stop living.” Victoria pastes on a smile. “It’s good that he’s finally started going out again.”

“Baby steps,” Diane tells her.

At Victoria’s insistence, they move into the sitting room, while she deals with the debris of dinner. Diane sits on the sofa and sips her coffee, and says, “So…Chrissie? Do I even want to know?”

At Robert’s look, she says, “Oh, come on – you had to know it was coming. I’m a nosy old woman and you’re next door to my own son. Of course I’m gonna _ask_.”

The thing is, he’d be defensive anyway – but it’s oddly worse with Diane.

“This is the part where you say, ‘What d’you mean ‘old’, Diane? You don’t look a day over thirty five’.” She waits. “All right – I’ll take forty-five.” A half-rueful, half-sympathetic smile. “That bad, eh?”

Robert’s always had the impression that Diane _wants_ to like him more than she actually _does_. Like loving him’s something of a duty for her – like eating her vegetables or brushing her teeth, rather than an honest feeling. 

“We’re going through a bit of a rough patch, that’s all,” he says. “We’ll work through it.”

“Right,” Diane says, and that should be an end to it, except she can’t help herself and says, “And you’re sure that’s all it is?”

He glares. “Of course.”

“Only…it’s a bit early in the marriage for problems, I would have thought. Seems like you two bypassed that honeymoon stage altogether.”

He’s still a bit raw from his walk to Home Farm and the contrast between fantasy and reality, so he snaps, “Well, I don’t remember you having a front row seat for any of it. So, it’s not like you’d know, is it?”

Diane doesn’t let herself get riled up, just says, after another mild sip of coffee, “No, I suppose not. But I like to think I know a thing or two about marriage, so maybe it balances out.” She leans forward, hands clasped around her mug, into Robert’s space. “It’s hard work, marriage – and I’m not just talking about yours…I mean everyone’s. Doesn’t matter who you are, it’s the hardest thing in the world to commit yourself to one person for the rest of your life – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“This is supportive,” Robert mutters. “Are you moonlighting for a divorce lawyer or something?”

“It’s the truth,” Diane tells him firmly, “And it’s something you need to hear, so shut it.” She holds up a finger in demonstration.

Of _course_ he gets the tough love, while Andy gets all the sympathy. To his family’s mind, Andy’s got a tragedy, while Robert’s just got another fuck up. 

“You spend years trying to learn someone by heart, till you know them better than anyone else ever could, till you know them better than they know themselves, even – and there’s still times when they’ll stand in front of you, and it’s like you’re looking at a complete stranger. There’s times when you’re lying in bed together, arms wrapped around each other – and it’s the loneliest place in the world to be” –

He interrupts. “Diane, have you actually got a point? Or are you just planning on keeping going until I decide to slash my wrists?”

“My _point_ is – if you love them, it’s worth it. It’s worth all the work – and believe me, it’s a lifetime of work. But, if your heart’s not in it, then…”

“Then?” he asks in spite of himself.

She smiles at him, so understanding it makes his teeth ache. “If your heart’s not in it, then it’s as well to call it quits now. Because it’s not going to get any easier. And you deserve the chance to go out and find something real –you and Chrissie both.”

“So my marriage isn’t _real_ now? Thanks very much.” Robert gets to his feet. “It’s just a rough patch, I’ve told you.”

Diane sighs. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t go twisting my words. This would be easier if we had a drink – some wine’d go down a treat right about now…”

“Oh cheers,” Robert starts to pace. “I know you won’t believe me – why break the habit of a lifetime – but it’s not _that_ bad. I don’t need to be plied with drink to tell the truth about my marriage.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Diane says, watching him with those shrewd, sharp eyes that miss nothing, in spite of all their good-humour, “But I meant it’d be easier for _me_.”

*****

The day after Diane’s visit, he goes to see a lawyer. Practicing in a place like Emmerdale can’t be all that exciting but Rakesh Kotecha seems on the ball. He tells Robert what he wants to hear, anyway.

Afterwards, elation still shivering through him, he stops by The Woolpack, and – it’s like an instinct, when he sees Hoodie sitting at a corner table ( _Aaron_ , his mind supplies, his name is _Aaron_ ), he approaches.

Robert’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he feels invincible after his meeting with Rakesh – like there’s no way this can go wrong. Not today.

Aaron’s sitting with someone – older, hard-faced, familiar. Great, _Cain Dingle_ , Robert registers vaguely as his eyes pass over him, before snapping back on to Aaron, who frowns up at him and says, “What?”

Robert doesn’t let the unwelcoming tone throw him. Instead, he smiles his most winning smile and says, “It’s Aaron, isn’t it?”

“What’s it to you?” Cain asks. He sounds belligerent. Maybe this is why Aaron’s social graces leave something to be desired – between his mum and _this_ specimen, clearly, he’s surrounded by people who have no idea how basic civility works. Robert ignores him. 

“Robert,” he says to Aaron, adding with a touch of self-deprecation, “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

“Right. And?” Aaron seems determined not to be charmed, mouth in an almost straight line, only emphasised by his beard. Absently, Robert wonders what he’d look like with a smile. He can’t imagine it, but tries anyway. 

“Look – I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Robert tells him, and he hadn’t expected to have to work this hard for someone he’s exchanged a grand total of twenty words with. “Let me buy you a drink. Start over. If it’s about what I said about your mum,” he spreads his hands, “well, you should know better than to hold anything against a man who hasn’t had his pint yet.”

“I’m not,” Aaron surveys him, flat. “I’m just not interested in having anything to do with you. So…”

“Bugger off, is what he's saying,” Cain Dingle says, obviously feeling that Aaron hasn’t spelled it out enough. He raises his eyebrows at Robert, who doesn’t move. “Unless you’ve forgotten how _that_ goes and all.” He tosses the remainder of his drink back and shifts like he’s about to get up, like he’s dying for a scrap. “Because if you have, I’d be happy to remind you.”

“Leave it, Cain,” Aaron tells him. “It’s not worth it.” He doesn’t look at Robert.

“Fine,” Robert says, good mood abruptly gone sour, “See if I try to be nice again.”

As he heads to the bar, Cain calls out, “Oh, that’s what that was, was it? No wonder neither of us recognised it!”

When Robert glances back, Aaron’s looking down at the table, like Robert doesn’t exist to him. Robert orders a pint anyway, and sits at the bar, obstinately celebrating a victory that shouldn't feel impacted, let alone diminished, by their exchange - but does, all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh - so yes, Robert's family (and Aaron's better-late-than-never sense of self preservation) keep getting in the way, but I swear to god, the Robert/Aaron-ness of this whole enterprise is there, for reals.
> 
> ETA - annnnnd as soon as I posted, I remembered that OF COURSE Robert would know Cain from before. So corrected last part. Put this down to me hating Cain the last time I watched, and subconsciously wanting to forget his existence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just tell me one thing, Robert. Would you take it back, if you could?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who left kudos! I'm finally past the 50 mark - this is a HUGE deal for me :)
> 
> Dips in and out of canon timeline and canon scenes, since I didn't want to write huge swathes of what's already been on the screen. Don't know if people will like this chapter...but I was really dreading writing memoryscape stuff, and I don't think it turned out as badly as I expected, so I kind of like it.

The technician was taking his blood pressure when it happened. “– empty stomach, and no drinking, obviously, because that interferes with our medication…”

Through a crackle and fizz like static, and she repeated, “ –terferes with our medication, and you do want to wake up, I presume.”

“What?” he said. 

At the same time, as he looked at her – her eyebrows raised, and her mouth closed - he heard her voice echoing through the room, “– signs good…how’s it looking on your end?”

Another, fainter voice answered, “All fine over here.”

“What’s going on?” Robert demanded. He pushed to his feet…he was suddenly sitting across the desk facing the technician again, despite the fact that not five seconds ago, he’d been sitting on the examination table while she took his blood pressure.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, with a relentless calm that panicked Robert even more.

“You can’t hear that?” He gestured to the ceiling and walls, and again, without her moving her lips, he heard her say, “-give you this. You take it on an empty stomach, and no drinking, obviously, because that…”

And, at the same time, the same voice overlapped her own advice about medication and said, “-hotel room, which means ‘kicked out’, no matter how nice it is. Wife means business, obviously.”

“D’you think she’ll take him back?” the second voice asked.

“ _Oh_ ,” the technician said, across from Robert, sounding enlightened, but no more interested. “It’s probably started already.”

He stared at her. “You mean…you’re erasing my memories _now_?”

She shrugged. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, either you’re having a complete mental breakdown, and I’m being ridiculously calm about it, or we’re in your hotel room right now, giving you your money’s worth. You might notice some...” she waved her hands around, “general weirdness, but that’s all part of the process.”

“ _Part of the process_?” Robert repeated, disbelieving.

“Hey, you’re the one who paid for this. It’s a bit late for complaints now,” she said, picking up a file, even as everything around her started to darken and blur.

*****

The posters in the waiting room turned white – and the receptionist vanished in the middle of calling out patient names that turned into monotonous grinding sounds instead of decipherable human speech. Robert found himself standing outside, and looking up at a building that, between one blink and the next, disappeared.

*****

It was the strangest feeling in the world to find himself at Chrissie’s sister’s home, stomach tense with apprehension. Knowing exactly how everything was going to turn out…but compelled to do it anyway.

He raised his hand and knocked.

It had been a gamble, a risk worth taking once he’d figured out that Chrissie was here. Everyone hated him anyway, so there was nothing to lose there…and given his own family experience, he thought there was at least a small chance Chrissie hadn’t told Rebecca the entire sordid story. That was the thing about same sex siblings. On the surface, they were community, a source of unquestioning support…but just beneath that was the inevitable sense of competition. God knows Andy had the honour of being both the first _and_ last person Robert wanted to bring his failures to. 

And it turned out he was right, as Rebecca warily let him in. “She’s been so upset the last couple of days,” she said. “I hope you’re going to make it up to her.”

“I’m going to try,” Robert said, sincerity thick in his voice.

“Yes, well, you’d better,” she warned, as she showed him in to the sitting room. 

Chrissie, bare-faced and exhausted looking, rose from the sofa. “What…” she began.

“Look, Chris,” Rebecca said, holding up her hands. “Just hear me out, okay? I don’t know what’s happened between the two of you, and I don’t need to. But you have been _miserable_ since you got here, and you won’t talk to me. So…maybe you should talk to him. See if you can fix things,” she glanced between them. “Clear the air at least.”

“Your sister’s right,” Robert told Chrissie.

Her jaw worked. “Well, you would think that, wouldn’t you?” She turned to Rebecca. “I can’t believe you let him past the door.”

“I just thought” –

“Five minutes.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Robert. “You’ve got five minutes, and then I never want to see you again.”

He didn’t turn his head as Rebecca murmured excuses, and beat a tactful retreat, leaving him alone with Chrissie. Her hair was pulled into an untidy plait behind her ear, and he could tell she’d been crying recently, and all of that should have made her seem more vulnerable – it _did_ make her seem vulnerable…but at the same time, she looked stronger in some way than ever before. _If you hurt my little girl_ , he remembered Lawrence saying, when they’d started seeing each other. But Robert had always known she was stronger than she looked. He just hadn’t guessed she was as strong as this. 

“Chrissie…” he said, and made to step closer.

“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “You can speak from where you’re standing.” She looked at him. “Well? Aren’t you going to start? Time’s ticking.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, persisting at her scoff, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I _am_. I was stupid and reckless and I made a mistake, all right?”

Chrissie stared at him with those tired eyes. Even her voice sounded tired as she said, “Oh come off it, Robert. You didn’t make a _mistake_. At least tell me some new lies. Ones that don’t rely on me being a complete idiot – because despite what you think, I’m not.”

“I’m not lying – it’s the truth. I know you don’t want to believe me” –

“Don’t want to? Try _‘can’t.’_ Don’t you understand why?” This time, she took a step closer to him. “Because a mistake is something that happens _once_. Not _over_ and _over_ for _months_ and _months_ behind my back.” She paused, but never took her eyes off him. “What happened with Cain – that was a mistake. I kissed him, realised what I’d done and how stupid I’d been, and it never would have happened again. _That’s_ a mistake.”

“See – we’ve both done things we’re not proud of,” Robert said, seizing the opportunity she’d presented him with. “And I know exactly how you feel. Because – I’ve felt that too. About you and Cain.”

“You brought the man you were sleeping with into our home! Into our _bed_!” Her voice rose into a wobbly screech. “That is so much worse than _anything_ I have ever done to you. I can never go back there again, Robert. I could never sleep in that bed, thinking about how you betrayed me.”

“You’re angry with me,” Robert said, risking a step closer, easing into her space, powerless to stop himself from re-enacting the memory. Chrissie didn’t stop him this time, just kept staring him down. “And you have every right to be. But – we can move past this, Chrissie. I _know_ we can, if you just give me another chance. Please. Let’s not ruin everything between us just because I did something stupid.”

Chrissie shook her head. Kept shaking it. “I honestly can’t figure you out. Do you really not see it?”

“See what?”

“That everything’s already ruined. _You ruined it_.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged. It was sort of a turn off to hear himself – to be both in the moment and outside it, feeling the desperation, and at the same time, capable of standing back and realising just how pathetic he sounded. “Just – tell me what to do, and I’ll fix it.”

Her mouth worked. “You lied to me. You made me look like a fool. You cheated on me again and again. And even now, you can’t stop lying. The truth is, you don’t _want_ this to work out. You can’t, after everything you’ve done.”

“Of course I do! Chrissie – I chose _you_. I married you.”

“Yes. You did. And kept right on sleeping with the local mechanic afterwards. You didn’t _choose me_. You strung me along exactly like you did with Aaron – you just put a ring on my finger first. Lucky me.” She blinked very fast. “Tell me – was it denial? Self-loathing? Or are you just that big a bastard?”

“What?”

“Either way, I deserved so much better than to be a part of your dirty little sexuality crisis.”

“I’m not having a sexuality crisis! And I’m not denying anything!”

“No?” Chrissie took a deliberate step forward. Even though Robert should have seen that as progress, conversely, it made him want to put some distance between them. He held his ground, even though his stomach turned in anticipation of what she might say. “Then tell me the truth. For once in your miserable, pathetic life, be honest with me.” Voice soft, she said, “Admit it, Robert. You were sleeping with someone else – a _man_ – before we even got married, and that wasn’t a mistake on your part.”

“Then what was it?” It was rhetorical – he’d thrown out words just so that he wouldn’t have to feel the weighted space between them. But now, reliving the memory, he sounded questioning, like he expected an answer. Thankfully, his voice strengthened as he went on. “What else _could_ it have been – since I’m here now, trying to save our marriage?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been sitting here the past few days, trying to understand it – but I’m not even sure I care anymore. Understanding it won’t change the fact that it happened. That you did it.” She looked away for a moment, then back at him. “Just tell me one thing, Robert. Would you take it back, if you could?”

Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears, and it took him a moment to marshal the wherewithal to swallow, and say, with every ounce of conviction he possessed (because this a crucial moment, a turning point), “Of course I would. Chrissie, you know I” –

 _Crack_.

He heard the sound of her palm hitting his face before he felt the pain.

“Liar,” she said, as the tears overflowed and ran down her face. “You’re a _liar_.”

“I’m not lying! If I could take everything back, undo every bad choice, every little thing I did that hurt you…believe me, I would.”

“Believe you. That’s a good one,” Chrissie said. “Because I don’t. Not that it would matter even if I did. It’s all just words with you, isn’t it? I don’t think you’re capable of sincerity.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Robert couldn’t stop himself from saying. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Prove it to yourself,” Chrissie said. “Since I think you’re the only one left who gives a damn. Now get out.”

“Chrissie, please,” he reached out a hand, but she flinched away.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “You make my skin crawl.” She flicked her eyes over him, mouth screwed up in distaste. “Not to mention, I’d rather not catch anything – since it’s obvious you’re not exactly careful about where you _stick it_.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the door was flung open.

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

Robert closed his eyes, even though he had known it was coming. Lachlan. Perfect. “Listen, Lachlan, your mum and I are just having a talk. Could you give us a minute?”

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Chrissie said. “Robert was just leaving.”

“Chrissie” –

“You heard her,” Lachlan said, eyeing him with that peculiar unblinking gaze. “Go. Or do you get off on forcing your way in where you’re not wanted?”

It was a mistake – he’d known that the first time round, but now, as then, he snapped out, “Actually, I think you’ll find that’s _you_ , mate.”

He heard Chrissie’s indrawn breath. “ _Get out_.”

“Lachlan, I’m sorry. That was – out of order. I didn’t mean to say that,” Robert said, attempting to claw back some ground, even though he already knew it was too late. It felt even worse the second time around. 

“Oh yeah? Just like you didn’t mean to ruin Mum’s life? Just like you didn’t mean to have sex with the first bloke who was too stupid to see what you really are? There's a lot of things you don’t _mean_ to do.”

“Is that true?”

He looked over to the open door, and even though he knew what he would see – knew exactly what was coming next, it didn’t stop the lurch of his stomach.

“Rebecca – it’s not the way it sounds, honestly.”

“I think you should leave,” Chrissie's sister said, arm pointing the way out. 

“Three to one,” Lachlan observed. “Looks like we win.”

Robert held up his hands. “All right. All right. I can see there’s no use in trying to talk now.” He tried to catch Chrissie’s eye, going off script for the first time since he’d been forced to reenact this deja vu. “But Chrissie, _Chrissie_ \- I promise, I’ll show you I mean it…I swear to you, I’m doing it right now, erasing everything that went wrong, so we can start again” –

“Oh, save it,” she said, as she sank back onto the sofa, fingers pressing into the space between her eyebrows. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

Lachlan escorted him out with a hand on Robert’s elbow – as if he were a muscle-bound bouncer instead of a snotty teenager. At the door, he said, “If you ever come near us, if you _ever_ try to hurt any of us, ever again...I will make you _sorry_.”

The words crackled like a bad recording, and as Robert stared and the door swung shut, he realised that all the windows in front of the house were gone, leaving the property looking curiously malformed – eyeless, terrifyingly blank.

And then that was gone, too.

*****

Victoria and Diane this time, in The Woolpack sitting room-cum-kitchen. Vic was on the sofa, while Diane was perched a slightly more disapproving distance away, at the table, and even though he was pacing, Robert felt a bit more in control. Maybe he was just getting in to the swing of this.

“I really don’t have time for this, Vic,” he said, as he noticed that half the knick-knacks in the cabinet were missing.

“So what – we’re not going to talk about it? You just got outed by your wife in this pub not two days ago! I’d say that deserves _some_ mention.”

“What is there to say?”

“Uh…I don’t know. How about, ‘Vic, I’m gay’ for starters?”

“I’m not gay.” In an undertone, he continued, “You know, I am really _not_ going to miss having these conversations.”

Vic didn’t seem to notice his aside. “Well, since you’ve been sleeping with Aaron for the last couple of months, I think it’s a pretty safe bet you’re not completely _straight_.”

“I’m not seeing how this is any of your business.”

She gaped at him. “Because you’re my brother. And I care about you. And – and this is a really big thing to not know about someone you love.” She bit her lip. “And – I do love you…this doesn’t change that” –

“Can we just skip the Pride speech, Vic? I don’t need it. It meant nothing – and I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. Chrissie’s _leaving_.”

Diane gave a short, sharp laugh. “Well, can you blame her?” On the table, her handbag flickered in and out of existence.

“Yes, yes, I messed up, I get it.”

“Messed up? You’ve been having an affair since before your wedding day. I think 'messed up’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you?”

“What Diane _means_ ,” Vic said, glancing between them, “Is that even though we can’t condone what you did and the whole – affair thing, which, don’t get me wrong, was a really, really terrible thing to do to Chrissie…” she took a breath, “It’s got nothing to do with it being Aaron that you cheated with. There is absolutely nothing wrong with…that bit of it. The Aaron part. Wanting a man, I mean. And – we hope you know that.”

“Yes,” Diane said, a bit grudgingly. “No-one here’s got a problem with _that_. It’s just the cheating and the lying and the hurting of innocent people we take issue with.”

“I _don’t_ want a man,” he said, ignoring Diane. 

“Except you did.” Vic was steady, implacable. “Enough to sleep with one, at least. And not just once – for months. You ruined your marriage over this, Robert, so don’t tell me it meant nothing.”

Robert shook his head in mute denial.

“I know this must be scary, alright? I do. Having everyone find this out all of a sudden. Having everyone _know_. But it’s going to be okay. You can tell us the truth, and we’ll understand. I promise.”

She looked at him with expectant eyes. “I’ve got to go,” he heard himself say, words snapping and scratching in the suddenly more barren room. The cushions were gone from the couch now, the coffee table too. He risked a look at the walls and saw the patterned wallpaper writhing itself out of existence. “My wife’s getting ready to leave town and I can’t afford to waste any more time on things that don’t matter.”

Even Victoria started to sound faint as he walked away. “Rob – you can’t just run away from us, from _this_. It’s not” –

He turned back. Both she and Diane had disappeared, and all that was left was a bare, empty room. 

“Watch me,” he said to no-one, and reached for the handle.

*****

It was disorienting to step straight from The Woolpack sitting room into Home Farm, but he kept his head, falling seamlessly into sync and finishing the sentence that hovered on the tip of his tongue, “I wasn’t sure you’d let me in.”

“Only so you can take those away.”

One bin bag full of his possessions winked out of existence as he and Chrissie moved past it. The wine, when he located it in the other, had a label that was just meaningless scribble. He stared at it, but he couldn’t force it into anything that made sense. 

He held it out to her anyway. 

“– to drink on our tenth wedding anniversary,” Chrissie said. 

“And we still can. I’m not taking it.” Behind her, there was a vase full of flowers. They didn’t even look real, but the petals still fell, fell, fell.

He held on to the bottle for another moment, and, maybe it was just because he knew he wouldn’t remember, but he said, for once without trying to affect sincerity, “I am sorry, you know. I just – wasn’t thinking of you when it happened.”

She looked at him, and he corrected what he hadn’t realised until then was a lie, “All right - I didn’t _let_ myself think of you.”

He put the bottle down – and he didn’t know what he expected, but she picked it up and poured it down the drain, just like always, like nothing he did or said was ever going to matter.

He still ended up promising, “– no more, Chrissie. I want you. Only you.”

Then the return of his keys, and Lawrence, and Chrissie saying, “It’s all right, Dad. He knows he has nothing to return for.”

“So you’ve told him?”

“Told me what?”

“We’re leaving,” Chrissie said, and no matter how he blinked, the room just kept getting darker and darker. “Funnily enough, I just can’t work up any enthusiasm for staying on in a place where I’ve been utterly humiliated.”

*****

He really didn’t want to relive Andy finding out. He didn’t want to relive any of it, but especially not this part. “Katie was right all along - you were having an affair.”

He told himself it would be over soon, as he lied –

"Andy, Andy _please_ don't do this."

“You twisted everything. Made me feel like she was trying to ruin your life.”

“No. No. It wasn’t like that.”

And lied –

"I don't know - she wouldn't let it go, she...I had to do something."

“What - like set fire to the caravan? She was right about that too, wasn’t she?”

“No. No – I swear.”

And finally, exhausted, let the truth slip out. “And I hate myself for it, Andy, but – nothing will bring Katie back.”

It was far too late to beg Andy not to hate him. He did it anyway, and got thrown out. Then he dug his fists into the ground and waited for it to be over.

*****

He opened his eyes and followed Diane into The Woolpack again. To see Aaron, stare at him across the buffer zone created by Diane and Adam. Aaron stared back wordlessly, and Robert thought, _You’ll be gone soon, and I won’t even remember this_.

Out from the back rooms when he heard the high-pitched, “ _Are you happy now?!_ ” and still trying, even though he knew it was futile, to get Chrissie to keep all this private. Only for her to say, loud and clear, “You’ve been having an affair with a _man_ , and you think that I want to talk to you?”

Underneath the crawling sensation of having everyone’s shocked eyes on him, he found room to think, rebelliously, that this wouldn’t have been half as bad for Chrissie if she hadn’t insisted on going public with it. She was the one who'd made the big fuss.

“It _is_ over,” Aaron said, in response to his mum.

“Yeah – you can say that again!” Robert called, though Aaron didn’t seem to notice, head bent close to Paddy’s as they whispered together, before he walked out. _I’m erasing you_ , Robert thought. _And there’s nothing you can do to stop me_. His heart pounded in his chest. 

“Since when were you gay?” Victoria demanded.

“I’m not gay.”

“So what do you call this, confused or…?” Kerry interrupted.

“I really can’t tell you how much I am not going to miss this part of every conversation,” Robert said.

“Couldn’t help himself, apparently. Kept going back for more,” Chrissie said. “Oh, what’s the matter? The truth _hurt_ , does it?”

Robert turned his back and waited for the sound of static.

Gone.

*****

Freedom. That was what he felt, as Aaron stood, red-faced, with tear-tracks down his cheeks, and blew his life apart all over again.

The churning dread was still there, fixing his body in place, allowing Aaron to spit the truth with no effort to stop him other than the admittedly rather pitiful, “Shut up”s and “He’s lying”s he’d managed at the time.

 _But it didn’t matter in the end._ It had happened, but he'd found a way round it, in spite of Aaron's best efforts. 

And that unstuck his feet from the floor when Aaron clapped him on the back, hard, and said, savagely, “Hey – all that you’ve worked for…is GONE.”

He gave in to the urge and followed Aaron out of there. “Hey – HEY!”

Aaron didn’t stop, kept striding toward the door and it was weird, he should have reached it by now, but the floor kept lengthening. Robert tried to set the disorientation aside, eyes fixed on Aaron’s back as he said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, mate – but you should’ve saved your breath back there. Me and Chrissie, we’re going to be just fine, though no thanks to you. Better luck ruining my life next time, eh?”

Aaron didn’t indicate that he’d heard, kept moving forward without even a hitch. Robert kept chasing him. “Aaron. AARON – d’you hear me? I would’ve left you alone, you know that –don’t you? _You’re_ the one forcing me to do all this – I’m forgetting every single thing about you right now. Right at this very second. By the time I wake up tomorrow, I won’t even know who you are!”

He got jerky eyefuls of Aaron’s deep purple hoodie, the back of his head, still moving purposefully forward, while the interior of Home Farm swirled nauseously around them. He reached out his hand to grab Aaron’s shoulder, make him stop, but no matter how fast Robert moved, he couldn’t seem to catch up to him. He kept calling, though Aaron didn’t seem to acknowledge that either. 

“Are you happy now? Because I know I am! Aaron? AARON!”

Aaron finally reached the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into bright, blank nothingness without even looking back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron just gives a peculiarly eloquent one-shouldered shrug, already looking away, like Robert’s done something unsavoury like whipped out his penis in front of him, instead of reaching for a Pepsi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES! Finally! Sweet, sweet forward momentum! 
> 
> THANK YOU to anyone who has stuck with this and read this far :) Especial and enormous thanks to anyone who kudosed or commented - it is much appreciated.

Emmerdale’s a small village, and Aaron (Aaron Livesy, not Dingle, as Robert learns) is everywhere. Or at the very least, it seems like it. He’s this constant itch in the corner of Robert’s eye, snagging and catching his attention in The Woolpack, on the street, the poxy little shop. Robert wouldn’t have thought it would be _possible_ to catch sight of someone so often, even in this non-event of a place. It’s almost freaky.

_Almost_ – because Aaron happens to live at The Woolpack, the slow-beating, alcoholic heart of the village…which his mother happens to co-own with Robert’s stepmother, and where Robert’s sister happens to work. Not to mention –

“He’s Adam’s _partner_ as well? In the scrapyard? You never mentioned that.” Robert crosses his arms on the sofa at Keeper’s Cottage and contemplates yet _another_ connection with Aaron Livesy. It’s like they’re knotted together like shoelaces – there’s no getting away from the guy. 

Vic frowns down at the towel she’s just folded, before refolding it. “Did I not? I thought I had. Must have slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind?”

“Yeah, it slipped my mind. What’s the big deal?”

“No big deal – I’m not saying it is,” Robert says, because it’s not. It’s just – weird. “But don’t you think it’s a bit odd? Between Chas and Diane, and now Adam…it’s like we’re in _bed_ with these people.”

Victoria stops folding and looks at him. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“It’s just an expression,” Robert tells her. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard it before?”

“Yeah, but” – she stops herself, shakes her head and in a determinedly different, more upbeat tone of voice, she says, “speaking of beds…and _marriages_ …”

“Which we weren’t,” he points out, because he can tell what’s coming.

She sends off his objection with a wave of her hands, and an airy, “Free association.” 

“Oh, sorry – I didn’t realise I was sat here with Dr Freud,” Robert mutters, picking at the neat stack of folded items on the cushion beside him. Vic on the other hand, gives up on the laundry altogether, perching close to him on the arm of the couch. 

“Robert. Seriously. It’s been over a week. I don’t want to push, but - what are you going to do about Chrissie?”

He looks at her for a long moment, lets the silence stretch out until finally he admits, “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she repeats. She blinks. “So…that’s it? You’re going to let her go? It’s over?”

“What? No, it’s not _over_ ,” Robert tells her. 

Victoria pantomimes confusion. “Okay…not following. Explain, please.”

Robert slides down on the sofa a bit, using his hands as he talks. “Look, I’ve tried being reasonable – talking to her…it got me nowhere. Obviously I can’t just keep following her about, hoping she’s finally gonna see sense and listen.”

“Right,” Victoria says, with slow nods of her head. “…sounds like you’ve given up on winning her back.”

“Of course I’ve not given up. Doing nothing is a strategy.”

“A strategy,” Vic’s voice is flat. “That's…romantic.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need it to be romantic. I just need it to be effective.” He leans forward and explains, “See, she can kick me out of our marriage…but she can’t kick me out of the business. I’ve checked – my contract’s watertight. They can’t get rid of me. And…they won’t want to, once they see how crucial I am. Lawrence might think he can replace me, but once the clients start complaining – we’ll see who’s got the upper hand then.”

“Wow.” Victoria digests this. “So you’re gonna…what? _Blackmail her_ into taking you back?”

“It’s not blackmail – it’s just…showing her exactly what her options are,” Robert says. 

Victoria examines her fingernails, trying for an off-handedness she can’t deliver. “You know…some people might say you sound more cut up about losing her money than you do about losing her.”

“Then some people can just shut up, can’t they, because they know nothing about it,” Robert says. “I love Chrissie.” He can’t quite stop himself from adding, “Besides, I think you’ll find that it’s _my_ money as well.”

His sister is silent for a long moment before asking, “The thing is…are you really okay with that? I’m serious, Robert. Can you live the rest of your life knowing that if she takes you back, it was because of the money, and not because she wanted to?”

Robert flicks his eyes to the side. “Don’t look at me like that, Vic. That’s just how life is. Love and marriage – that’s all well and good…but money comes into it too.”

“Obviously,” Vic says. The word drops like lead.

“Hey, just because I’m being strategic about this doesn’t mean I don’t care about her,” Robert defends.

“Yeah, I can really…feel the love.” Vic sighs. “I just…I really think you’re going about this the wrong way. Forget about all these _strategies_ …if you would just take the time to be honest – with Chrissie, with yourself, then” –

“I don’t exactly have the luxury of that option,” Robert says, cutting her off mid well-meaning lecture. 

Victoria gets to her feet. “Right. Of course not. Not like there’s any _money_ in honesty.” Then she grabs the still half full laundry basket and upends it over Robert’s lap. “Well, while you’re busy strategically doing _nothing_ – which, by the way, deserves to blow up in your face – you can take charge of everyone’s laundry as well.” As emphasis, she fires a red sock at his chest. “At least that way you’ll be doing something positive for a change.”

*****

Chrissie will call. He knows it. It’s just a matter of time, and all he has to do is play the waiting game. Which, okay, he’s never been very good at, patience really not being his strong suit. Usually, by this point, he’d have been midway down a list of quick-fixes designed to get him what he wants right-fucking-now. But something’s different this time, because he’s able to put it out of his mind, genuinely let it rest.

It’s a weight off his shoulders in a way. Chrissie will call, when she’s ready – and he doesn’t even have to do anything, can just forget about it. 

He falls into the habit of checking his phone, scrolling absently through numbers, names, past messages (Lawrence has mastered the art of sounding peremptory even by text, and it gives Robert a certain satisfaction to delete his old messages one by one…like bursting bubblewrap) – but it’s not because he’s expecting or anticipating Chrissie’s call. It just gives him an excuse to avoid looking at Andy on those rare occasions they're in the same room, gives him something to do when Chas Dingle is narrowing her eyes at him, or when Aaron Livesy…

It’s weird, but no matter how often they find themselves in the same place, Aaron Livesy appears determinedly oblivious. He must notice – _Robert’s_ noticed, and Aaron’s the one with the senseless vendetta against him, so Robert supposes Aaron has to at least be _aware_. He’s pretty shitty at the whole senseless vendetta thing otherwise.

But Aaron never lets on. Keeps his head down, and never so much as glances in Robert’s direction across The Woolpack, never slows or tosses a scowl his way when they end up walking past each other in the street. It’s like Robert doesn’t even exist to him.

Except that’s a _lie_ , because it takes a determined effort of will to ignore someone this thoroughly. And it pisses Robert off.

Yeah, he knows it’s a small annoyance in the grand scheme of things, but it _feels_ raw and inflamed, a scab he can’t stop picking at. So he flicks glances at Aaron in The Woolpack – in between pretending to be occupied with his phone. When they meet in the street, he makes sure to veer so close they brush shoulders as they pass. In the shop, he turns back from the counter, affecting forgetfulness, to grab a soft drink from the shelf right by Aaron’s head. 

(That last nets him some flat, unimpressed eye-contact, at least, which he capitalises on by saying, “Don’t mind, do you?” and holding the bottle by Aaron’s face.

Aaron just gives a peculiarly eloquent one-shouldered shrug, already looking away, like Robert’s done something unsavoury like whipped out his penis in front of him, instead of reaching for a Pepsi)

So yeah, not the most mature of responses, but it’s not like anyone ever accused Robert of restraint before. And, for all his poking at the situation, there are times when he doesn’t have to do anything at all, because it just happens naturally, like –

“Oh,” Robert says at the door to The Woolpack, where he’s walking out, just as Aaron’s decided to walk in. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Aaron accepts this in stoic silence and waits for Robert to move out of the way. Robert just raises his eyebrows, unaccountably disappointed when Aaron presses his lips together and stands aside, making a small ‘go ahead’ gesture with his hand.

“Do you not think this is getting a bit childish?” Robert says, instead of taking the hint.

Aaron seems unmoved. “You’re the one blocking the door. I suppose you’d know.”

Robert opens his mouth but before he can reply, there’s the sound of steps behind Aaron, and a familiar voice saying, “Ey, what’s the hold-up?”

“I dunno. Ask him,” Aaron says, allowing Adam in front of him. 

“All right, Robert?” Adam asks, with that veneer of pretend-civility they seem to have settled into for Victoria’s sake. It’s thin enough that they’re both satisfied the other knows it’s fake, but courteous enough that neither can be called on it. 

“Yeah,” Robert says. He can feel his face going smooth and expressionless under Adam’s gaze. “Fine. Fine.”

“Good. Oh, y’might tell Vic that I’ll be a bit late – having a quick one with Aaron.” Adam claps Aaron on the back, then uses that hand to steer Aaron forward and past Robert – who has the option of moving, or being bulldozed out of the way. Before he leaves, he casts one quick glance over his shoulder, to the counter, where Adam’s already ordering a pint with loud obnoxious cheer, hand still on Aaron’s back.

*****

As soon as he’s through the door, Vic’s on him. “Whites – and coloureds,” she says, brandishing a now-pink chef-shirt. “How hard is that to remember?”

She waves it right in front of his face, and Robert frowns and pushes the lightly pink fabric out of his eyeline. “D’you mind?”

“Er…considering it’s my work uniform, _yeah_ , I mind.”

“Right, well, I’ll just go back in time and undo it then, shall I?”

“Not to mention, it’s not even the first time!”

“Seriously though – are you doing it on purpose?” Andy’s standing by the kitchen door, arms folded. It’s a day ending in ‘y’ so Andy’s talking to him again. As opposed to the other days ending in ‘y’ when he decides a casual conversation with Robert might kill him. 

“Why would I be doing it on purpose?” Robert asks. 

“I don’t know. To get out of doing the laundry, maybe?” Andy suggests.

Robert rolls his eyes. “Oh, well done – you’ve cracked my evil scheme.” To Victoria he says, “Calm down – I’ll buy you a new one.” And, as he pulls out a chair and sits, “By the way, I bumped into Adam in the pub – says he’ll be a while.”

“What? Why?”

“Having a ‘quick one’ with Aaron.” He can’t stop himself from muttering, “Though probably not _that_ quick, considering how late he was last night.” That Aaron happens to be Adam’s favourite person in the whole world (as well as his business partner) is just another way that Aaron Livesy seems to have bled, like a red sock, across the pristine white of Robert’s life.

“Of course he is,” Vic says. “That’s – great. Just. Great.” She drops her chef’s shirt on the table before walking out of the kitchen.

“What?” Robert says to Andy. “What’ve I said now?”

But when he follows her into the sitting room, to find her sitting with one of the violently pink owl print cushions in her lap, the first thing Vic says is, “Sorry.”

He comes to a halt, thrown by this sudden capitulation. 

“It’s just a stupid chef’s shirt. It doesn’t matter. It’s not even about that, really. I’m just – taking it out on you, and I shouldn’t be.”

“Okay,” Robert says, warily dropping down next to her. “Is…everything alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just – I don’t know. Things have been a bit weird with Adam lately.”

“Because of me,” Robert guesses.

“No,” Victoria says unconvincingly, then, stronger, “No, not really. It’s just…I don’t mind him being supportive…that’s what good friends _do_. But Adam doesn’t seem to get that-that sometimes, it’s not about taking _sides_.”

“Taking sides?” Robert repeats, trying to piece it together. “D’you mean – he’s taking sides with _Aaron_? About _me_?”

“Never mind,” his sister says. “It’s not important. Really.” 

“D’you want me to have a word with him?”

“What? No! With who? _No_ ,” she says, with unflattering haste.

“Because I could,” Robert insists, anticipation already charging him up at the thought of tackling Adam (or Aaron) – and having the force of indisputable right on his side. Because anything that’s got Vic trying so hard not to look miserable – well, it’s got to be completely wrong. “This whole stupid thing’s gone far enough as it is – I probably should” –

“Rob, read my lips. Do _not_ get involved in this. Do you hear me?” Victoria says, enunciating every word. “I _mean_ it.” 

“Fine,” he says. He can feel his mouth pulling into a sulk. “I was only trying to help.”

“Yeah, well – don’t worry about it. Seriously” Vic says, shaking her head and pasting on an almost-convincing smile. “It’ll be all right – it’s no big deal. I’m just having a moan.”

*****

It’s not surprising – he’d pegged Adam as unworthy of Vic straightaway. Under normal circumstances, Robert wouldn’t even be adverse to him showing his true, graceless colours to Victoria. She’s twenty-one – way too young to be tying herself down to forever with someone like Adam Barton.

But it should be _Vic_ coming to her senses and realising she’s better off without him. Not Adam choosing to blow off married life in order to spend more time with _Aaron Livesy_. Like Victoria’s some kind of – second choice.

Of course it needles at Robert. She’s his baby sister – he’s _supposed_ to look out for her. 

Obviously, he’s not going to just let it _lie_.

So when she ducks out from behind the counter at The Woolpack at the end of a long day (tapping Robert on the shoulder as she passes, in a silent ‘get your skates on’ gesture) and tells Adam, “Right – we’re ready whenever you are,” and Adam barely takes his eyes from the dartboard long enough to say, “Actually babe, I’ll be along in a bit, got this score to settle with Aaron – because that last game was a _fluke_ , man, and you know it,” Robert’s ready. He eases himself from his place by the bar in time to say to Vic, “You’re not in any hurry are you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Aaron take aim – steady and even, and Vic says, “Why?”

“Thought you might be persuaded to have a quick one with me,” he says, keeping a corner of his attention on Aaron, for his reaction. Maybe there’s a slight hesitation before he throws the dart, but he can’t be sure because Adam’s response is to frown between Victoria and Robert and say, “Don’t you have something you need to do at home, Vic? I could’ve sworn you said” –

“No,” Victoria makes a face as she pretends to consider it, shaking her head slowly. “Can’t think of anything. Well,” she amends, “I _was_ gonna walk around barefoot in the kitchen, waiting for my man to come home, but…maybe I should save some fun for tomorrow night.” She turns to Robert. “All right – you’re on. Come on, Mr Flash – show us what you’re made of.”

She pulls him over to a table, throwing her coat over the back of one of the chairs, and Robert goes to order the drinks. Adam glances over at them once or twice, but Aaron never turns his head, keeps his attention resolutely on the dartboard. This seems to turn the tide of the game in his favour, and that pulls Adam’s focus back with a vengeance. “All right, all right – best three out of five?” he says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

What that means is that he and Vic are stuck at that table, watching the pair of them be all matey – which probably doesn’t do much to take Victoria’s mind off of Adam’s side-taking. She keeps looking over at them, in between sips of her drink, finally giving up the pretence around game four, and propping her chin on her hand as she lapses into silence.

Robert can see where Vic’s coming from – it _is_ irritating to watch the two of them. Aaron, who has perfected a kind of aggressive blandness every time he and Robert have to interact, displaying all the charm of a stubble-covered piece of _toast_ – is personality incarnate with Adam. Okay, it’s subtle – small eye-rolls and sarky comments, but it’s like flashing neon compared to the stonewalling he’s given Robert any time they’ve so much as happened to breathe the same air.

“You’d think he could leave his grudge at the door, if he and Adam are such good friends,” Robert finds himself saying, as he rolls his half-empty glass between his palms and watches Adam cough loudly as Aaron’s about to throw his dart – garnering an unimpressed look that creases Adam up. “You know – just to keep the peace.”

“Oh please,” Vic says. It’s obvious she’s shooting for humour, but she sounds almost wistful. “That over there is the romance of the century. Take more than you or me to throw it off course. Maybe the Titanic. Or an iceberg…”

There’s this split second where everything falls into place, before Robert turns his head to look at her. “Hang on – Aaron’s gay?”

Vic blinks at him. “What?”

“Romance of the century, you said,” Robert reminds her. Even though he’s focused on her, he’s aware of the dark blur at the edge of his eyeline.

“That was a joke,” she says.

“Oh.” He looks down at his pint, realises that it’s still half full, and takes a drink. 

A few seconds later –

“But yeah,” Victoria says. “He is gay. That’s not a problem for you, is it?”

He can feel her staring at him, and out of nowhere, his heart’s speeding up, like he’s been caught out in the middle of doing something he shouldn’t, even though it’s completely irrational. “So, what – you think I’m some sort of gay-basher now? Nice.”

“That’s not what I said.” She’s calm, batting away his overreaction. “I just asked if it was a problem.”

“Why would it be? Nothing to do with me,” Robert says. He keeps his eyes fixed on his drink, takes another swallow.

“Good.” She’s still looking at him. “Because Aaron’s all right.”

“I’ll try and keep the casual homophobia to a minimum then,” Robert mutters.

“You do that,” Vic says, almost absently. There’s a sticky kind of silence before she clears her throat. “You know, he had a really hard time of it before he came out.”

“Yeah?” Robert asks. He risks a glance over, one quick flick of Aaron Livesy from close-cropped head to trainer’d feet. Gay. It feels simultaneously as if he’s been blindsided by the information, and yet as if every stunned part of him is also saying, simply, ‘ _Yes_.’

_Of course._

“Yeah,” his sister continues, seeming oblivious to his thought process, “But – he seems much happier now. It’s like that saying – ‘the truth shall set you free’.” She taps her fingers against the rim of her glass. “Sometimes I think about it – what it must have been like for him…you know, having this big secret you feel like you can’t tell anyone. How lonely must that be?”

Robert makes a vague, noncommittal noise, but Vic’s apparently on a roll. “I’d hate it if anyone _I_ loved felt like that.” 

“Yeah, well, he seems like he’s doing all right now.” Robert barely inclines his head in Aaron’s direction. He lays disinterest thick through his voice, making it clear that he’s ready for this conversation to be over. All this sympathetic blather about coming out and being gay…it sets him on edge. 

Vic doesn’t take the hint. Instead, she lays a hand on his arm, and he’s arrested by the urgency of her tone as she says, “Rob, you _do_ know that you can tell me anything?”

It feels, uneasily, as if her wide, sincere eyes are reading the details of every one night stand from his skin. Even though there’s no way she could know. He breaks their gaze, throws back the final swallow of his drink.

Like so much of his life, his sexuality has been about bending the rules. Seeing what he can get away with. He fucks men sometimes – and it’s his secret. Not just in the boring, conventional sense…it feels like he’s _discovered_ a secret. He’s figured something out that most of the world’s too stupid to understand – that sexuality’s an opportunity, not some kind of burden. Because he doesn’t have to _choose_. It feels good, but he doesn’t have to pull an _Aaron Livesy_ and come out as gay because of it.

He can fuck men…and it doesn’t have to _matter_ , afterwards. 

It doesn’t lend itself to soul-searching, or grand coming-out speeches - and why bother anyway? He’s straight enough where it counts – he doesn’t get offended by gay jokes, he’s never fucked a guy he wanted to keep around longer than the sex act in question, and…to put it bluntly, at the end of the day he sees himself spending the rest of his life with a woman. (Chrissie, obviously, ideally – but even if she wasn’t in the picture, it wouldn’t be some _bloke_ usurping her place).

“Rob?” She’s still watching him, waiting for an answer, he realises.

“Yeah. Of course I know,” he says with a practiced smile. “If I ever have something I need to get off my chest, believe me, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

She doesn’t say anything, like she’s expecting him to say more, but when he doesn’t, she sighs and tosses back the rest of her drink. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go home.”

As they pass (and Adam hauls Vic close to bestow a smacking kiss on her cheek, and promise that he’ll follow in ten minutes), Robert hangs back and catches Aaron’s eye, and scrutinises him for a long moment – long enough that Aaron’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. 

“What?” he asks, belligerency threading through the word.

Robert shakes his head. 

“Nothing,” he says, even as he feels a familiar thump through his body – like he’s discovered a secret.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right,” he said. “Better crack on then, hadn’t we?” And, with all the passion of a child being forced to act the part of a sheep in the Christmas play, Aaron recited, “So Lawrence doesn’t want me at this convention tomorrow but I was thinking of ignoring him and going anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do not recommend trying to watch Emmerdale clips in reverse order - it's not worth the headache. 
> 
> Also, I refuse to dignify some of the weirder 'How evil is Robert today? Evil enough to insinuate that he might harm a small child with Down's syndrome?' kinds of scenes with a proper flashback. There are reasons I'm writing an Eternal Sunshine AU - and out of nowhere 'will stupidly evil Robert KILL' scenes are a big, big part of that.

A sideways lurch to the lodge, where he was suddenly catapulted onto the floor next to Aaron, the bars of the radiator pressing into his back. But the words on the tip of his tongue, defiant and needling, died immediately, because –

“You’re gonna have to kill me to keep me quiet. Just like you did with Katie. Just like you tried to do with Paddy. So what you gonna do?”

Robert’s explanations didn’t work any better the second time around.

“You killed her because she knew about us,” Aaron told him. “You can’t take being gay, so you kill people.”

He laid it out so simply, like it was clearly the truth. Even though it _wasn’t_. It made Robert’s heart spike in his chest. 

“D’you know what the funniest thing is? You don’t know the half of what I went through, coming out. Accepting it. Believe me, I’ve been there. I know how hard it is. But _this_?”

“If you think a little bit of teenage angst is the same as what I’m going through, then you know nothing about me.” And that was the worst part – not even that Aaron was _wrong_ …but that he sounded so convinced. Like he couldn’t be swayed. Like he didn’t _want_ to be. 

Like he really didn’t know Robert at all. 

“This isn’t about being _gay_. If this comes out…I lose everything. All I’ve worked for.”

“So this is about money. Cos that’s so much better, in’t it? That’s all you care about.”

His insides were being squeezed in a fist, tighter and tighter. He knew it was just a memory, but that knowledge didn’t seem to make it any less visceral to experience. “No. No. I _wish_ that was all I cared about. Don’t you see? _It’s you_. You’re the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” 

It was terrifying, to be this close to someone – a breath away, a touch – and not be _seen_. He reached out, took hold of Aaron’s face, like he could _make_ him see. “Falling in love with you ruined everything.”

Maybe that wasn’t entirely honest – it just _felt_ true, right at this moment. It was at least as true as Aaron’s version of events.

But Aaron took his words in, watched him with grave, accusing eyes, and decided, “No. You did all this yourself.”

Robert took a breath, dragging air into his lungs. “Fine. Believe what you want. What do I care? This is all gonna be gone by tomorrow.”

“Made your mind up, then, have you?” Aaron asked, surprising him. He hadn’t responded at all at Home Farm. But now he tipped his chin up, like he was facing a firing squad. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Robert said, stomach turning again at the way Aaron brought up the idea – like it would really be that easy for Robert. “I’m having you erased.”

A hint of a frown, though Aaron still didn’t seem all that interested. “What? You mean, you’re paying someone else to do it?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, given how invested you are in my being a _psychopath_ , but it’s a medical procedure. They hook me up to this machine, and then they take _you_ ,” Robert put a finger to his temple, “out of _here_. Like we never even met.” He made sure his voice was steady as he added, “Can’t happen soon enough for me, to be honest with you.”

“So I was right,” Aaron decided. “You _are_ paying someone else to get rid of me.” At Robert’s reaction, he said, “What? Am I supposed to pretend to be surprised or something?” Aaron regarded him for a long moment, unreadable. “Nothing you do could surprise me anymore.”

Later still, as this interminable flashback limped and stuttered its way toward conclusion –

“I’m not a bad person,” Robert said, like he was trying to convince himself. Like he was still trying to convince Aaron, because he added, from his futuristic vantage point, “You just kept believing the worst of me – and it wasn’t _like_ that. It wasn’t.”

It had _become_ like that – there was no arguing with the scene he was re-enacting…the gun and the blood and his own panic sweating from the walls. But it hadn’t started out that way – he’d never meant it to happen, and that had to count for _something_. 

Aaron didn’t reply. 

Instead there was Paddy (Paddy, who had _of course_ managed to drag himself into this mess), quiet and watchful in the corner –negotiating their release, unpicking the tangle of bad timing and impulse decisions that had led them to this. Because he had to. Because that was how this thing had panned out.

Though it was Aaron, finally, bloodied and wet-eyed, hair hanging defeated on his forehead, who looked at Robert and said them – the magic words, the ones that allowed him to bring this whole careening horror to an end. 

“I just want to go home.”

Palms on the floor, Robert pushed himself to his feet. The feeling in his chest was double-edged. Relief, because this wasn’t a memory so much as a burden, a weight of shame and fear in his mind, and who wouldn’t want to get rid of that? But in the moment, and here again, he felt – exhausted, and empty, and under that numbly regretful, like something had been smashed, broken, ruined beyond all repair. 

The gun was heavy in his hand but it vanished before he even set it down.

*****

Robert had the odd feeling that the rooms at the top of The Woolpack didn’t exist – that he and Aaron were stranded on a staircase that connected to nothing. He had his doubts about the floor too (even though he’d just walked in on it) since the lighting, a harsh, bright spotlight that focused tightly on him and Aaron, left everything else in darkness. He tried to shake the idea, but it had latched on tight, and wouldn’t let go.

“I just wanted to have a chat with ya without Lawrence around.”

“Sounds ominous,” Robert said. Now, thanks to the lighting, it _looked_ ominous too. And just then, with perfect timing, he heard a faint (but not faint enough) voice say, “So – what’s this Robert Sugden’s deal, anyway, d’you think?”

“Don’t know…and don’t much care. He’s not paying us to hold his hand and counsel him through it,” came the much louder voice of the technician.

Aaron frowned. “D’you hear that?” He tipped his head back, squinting upwards.

“What? It’s nothing,” Robert told him, speaking over Faint Voice, who said, “Yeah, but – you’re not even a little bit curious?”

“Closet case? Equal opportunist? It’s not like it matters in the end,” the tech said.

Aaron stared at him. The bright light shone through the staircase, casting bars of shadow across his face as he realised, “You’re doing it right now, aren’t you? What you said – the erasing thing.”

Feeling defensive, Robert said, “Yeah, well – I thought nothing I could do would surprise you.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised you’re doing it,” Aaron said. “Surprised it _exists_ , maybe.” He cast another glance up toward the ceiling. With a kind of toneless disinterest he added, “Bit sci-fi, innit?”

“It’s neuroscience. Nothing weird about it,” Robert said. “The facility came very highly recommended.”

“By who? Satisfied customers?” Aaron asked, looking at him again. “Not sure how much of a recommendation that is, if you think about it.”

“Look” – Robert began, but Aaron pushed to his feet. 

“Right,” he said. “Better crack on then, hadn’t we?” And, with all the passion of a child being forced to act the part of a sheep in the Christmas play, Aaron recited, “So Lawrence doesn’t want me at this convention tomorrow but I was thinking of ignoring him and going anyway.”

“What?” Robert said, thrown. “Aaron” –

“Yeah I’m serious,” Aaron said, emphasising the words as if…as if Robert had missed a line. “Why not I looked the place up it’s got its own private lodges.” He stared resolutely ahead as he spoke, refusing to pause for breath or punctuation. “I just figured you could sack the convention off and we’d go have some fun no-one would have a clue.”

Robert forced down the part of him that wanted to reply, to let “Yeah, I’m up for that,” spring from his lips. Instead he asked, “Aaron – what are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Sooner we get through this, the sooner it’s all done. I assume.”

“Well…yeah. I suppose.”

“So – let’s do it. No point hanging around,” Aaron said, and got to his feet, reeling off, like an emotionless e.e. cummings poem, “There’s no need to text me we’ll just go separately and then I’ll tell my mum I’m staying at a mate’s or something.”

When Robert didn’t answer, he finally broke enough to demand, “What? What’s the problem?” and the thrum of anger behind the words steadied Robert enough to get to his feet and say, "You could stand to put a bit more effort in. You’re the one trying to lure me away for a dirty weekend, remember?”

Aaron gestured upwards. “S’like she said, isn’t it? It’s not like it’s going to matter in the end. Not much point trying for an Oscar when you’re not going to remember any of it, is there?”

He looked at Aaron. It shouldn’t have been, but the offhand practicality of it all was a kick to the face. Even if he had to admit, “Probably not.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Right. So…you gonna go, or…?”

Robert swayed forward to kiss him – and at the time, Aaron had let himself be kissed, even if he had pulled his head back to make their contact a fleeting tease. But now there was no mistaking his distaste – he held himself stiff as a board, and jerked his head to the side as soon as Robert’s lips made contact.

“That it then?” he asked, and before Robert could reply, the spotlight switched off – and it was.

*****

Lawrence blathered on about Aaron's expansion plans (a sheaf of blank paper that he was studying intently) and Aaron listened, seemingly attentive – but he flicked quick glances at Robert across the glass table, like he was afraid Lawrence might hear the sizzle and spark if he let his eyes linger. Robert looked back, and this – the enterprise award and his father-in-law’s new interest in Aaron…maybe it should’ve felt risky, his double life suddenly shaking hands and sitting down to business meetings with his day-to-day – but instead, the situation felt ripe with possibility.

It _had been_ ripe with possibility, he corrected himself vaguely. 

“I think your expansion plans would benefit greatly from you attending the machinery convention,” Lawrence said, right on cue. “It’s in Ripon, at The Yorkshire View Hotel.” He dropped the unmarked paper onto the table. “Ever heard about it?”

It wasn’t just the ease with which Robert could say, “You know, it wouldn’t do us any harm to have some representation there too,” even if Lawrence shut him down quickly with some nonsense about not being able to spare him.

No, there was something thrilling in having Aaron here, on his turf, looking – legitimate. Almost like he belonged there, in his suit jacket. Granted, said suit jacket was only thrown over a t-shirt, but still. Aaron looked every inch the _enterprising young man_ Lawrence had singled out as deserving of his sponsorship. 

More than that, he looked good. 

As Lawrence bigged up what was essentially an excuse for people in the business to talk tractors and then slope off to the bar to get pissed, Robert wondered whether that didn’t have something to do with it. It had to add a certain kick to Lawrence’s mentoring when it was directed at someone like Aaron – young and attractive, rough around the edges. Oh – and gay. This was probably a walking wet dream for someone like Lawrence. 

Absently, Robert imagined his father-in-law demanding a more tangible reward than gratitude from Aaron, and had to stifle a smile at the thought. He could be terrifyingly vulnerable – but Aaron was no pushover. Robert had ploughed ten thousand into the scrapyard before the thing had even come into existence, and he’d been told in no uncertain terms to keep his nose out. And Aaron had _wanted_ to fuck _him_. Lawrence would find himself shoved up against a wall in short order…and not in the fun way, either. 

On second thought though, given his sad and stunted sexuality, Lawrence could probably get off just on Aaron being compelled to nod respectfully at his pearls of wisdom. It was pathetic, really.

As his father-in-law got up from the table to hunt down the convention brochure – taking the time to pat Aaron on the arm first, Robert noticed – Aaron looked over, eyes slipping sideways to meet Robert’s. A smile barely touched the corners of his mouth, but the quiet warmth of it hummed between them, made Robert’s face quirk into a similar expression.

_Good luck trying to buy this_, Robert thought, triumph welling up inside him, slow and thick, like honey. _Because it’s mine._

Then Aaron frowned and looked away – and for all the smallness of the gesture, it was a headfirst smack into reality. 

_Was mine_ , Robert corrected, as Chrissie and Paddy made their entrance. There was a jumble of words about Dog and the machinery convention – everyone receding to a voice in the background as Robert kept his eyes fixed on Aaron, who stared at the table, though he had to _know_ Robert was looking at him. They’d been so aware of each other that day – every little shift and movement.

He almost forgot his cue, but that was all right, since everyone obligingly lapsed into silence after Lawrence handed Aaron the brochure (another blank piece of paper), and Chrissie commented on its dullness. Robert turned around – it wasn’t that everyone had frozen – Paddy’s eyes flicked from him to Aaron, worried, Lawrence leaned over his chair, and Chrissie busied herself tidying away the pen and chequebook she’d just used. Still, it didn’t feel quite normal. 

Chrissie looked at him, giving him an absent smile. Robert frowned, eyes straying to the shelves behind her. He knew they had been full of files and folders…but they were gone now, and he couldn’t quite remember what they had looked like.

Aaron finally glanced up and said, “Think it’s your turn.”

“I – just as well I don’t find it dull,” Robert managed. “Also, I could introduce Aaron to a lot of contacts.”

The memory slipped back on track as Lawrence gave in and decided to cover expenses, and Chrissie wished them a good time.

“Lawrence is old school, so you just have to humour him,” Robert told Aaron as they walked through Home Farm. His eyes flicked over Aaron’s profile, his hands, his chest, his shoulders.

“Hey I’m happy to if he’s paying for this thing,” Aaron said, voice flat and completely devoid of the amusement Robert remembered – Robert _knew_ – he’d spoken with at the time.

Abruptly, he stopped, putting out a hand to halt Aaron too. “Aaron,” he said, “Why are you doing this? It wasn’t – it didn’t happen like this.”

“Didn’t think you’d be such a stickler,” Aaron commented. He’d shied away from Robert’s hand and still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Makes it easier for you, don’t it? I’d’ve thought you’d be all for that.”

“Besides,” he continued as he walked past the staircase, pulling ahead of Robert “I’m not all that keen on hanging about where I’m not wanted.”

And true to form, when Robert turned back after closing the panelled door to give them some privacy, Aaron was gone. 

 

*****

 

“There’s one clear winner,” Lawrence told the assembled crowd, though the rest of his speech descended into meaningless babble – Robert knew how the gist of it went, and his attention snapped onto Aaron as he came forward to take hold of the oversized cheque, ebullient in a way that he usually wasn’t, and that Robert couldn’t look away from.

“Hadn’t even entered this morning,” Chrissie commented as she took the chair opposite him. “Was that your idea? Financing one of your robbery thugs?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard about it,” Robert said, looking away, to where Lawrence and Aaron were sharing a drink to mark the start of this new alliance. Most of the people around them were nothing more than faceless blurs. It gave him the creeps a few minutes later when he angled his way toward the counter, waiting for his opportunity. Aaron had been right – it _was_ a bit sci-fi.

Finally, Lawrence ensconced with Chrissie, and the featureless well-wishers dissipated, Robert approached Aaron. “Congratulations,” he said.

“So I’ve got you to thank, have I?” Aaron said, addressing the counter.

Robert leaned in, but instead of the all the ultimately meaningless advice he should be dishing out about Lawrence, he found himself saying, in a low voice, “What was I supposed to do, eh? After everything that’s happened, I’ve got to try and get my life back on track. And a bunch of flowers isn’t exactly going to cut it with Chrissie.”

“So you - what? Decided on a lobotomy instead?” Aaron asked, deadpan. “Right. Suppose it’s one way to show her how much you care.”

“Look, it’s not – it’s nothing personal,” Robert said, though that wasn’t the truth. He’d felt a twisted satisfaction at the idea of rubbing Aaron out of his life entirely, like erasing a big black mark. But he couldn’t take any more of this – this hostile _acceptance_ on Aaron’s part.

Aaron looked up, and nodded, slowly. But then, just as the lights began to dim, and the scene started to blur out of existence, he said, “Feels like it is, though.”

*****

Maybe it made him a bit of a hypocrite, but he took Aaron’s approach in the hospital. Making what could be considered threats toward a special needs kid really wasn’t his idea of fun. More of a panic-driven necessity, even at the time. So he gabbled it all off to Paddy – _something to lose, warning, it’s not you that I’ll be coming after, say nothing to Chrissie, Aaron…_

No point trying to sound like he meant it. Not as if it had worked, anyway.

*****

He pressed the green button – an impulse. The same kind of one that made him push his luck, every time, even when he was getting his own way. “You just never know when to stop, do you, Robert?” his mother used to say, fondness softening the censure a little.

Except that wasn’t true. Because he'd pressed the red button too. And that wasn’t an impulse – it was a choice.

With another crackle of static, he rewrote history.

Unwrote it.

*****

_Rein your cheating husband in_. Yeah, well – he was _fixing_ that, wasn’t he? Quite literally as he and Chrissie spoke. So what if he couldn’t find the energy to sound convincing as he denied it this time? It wasn’t like Chrissie seemed to notice, anyway.

Aaron did though, when they met, raising his eyebrows slightly at Robert’s lacklustre, “What exactly are you trying to do – play some sad little game?”

“I see you’re doing things my way,” he said. “Come around, have ya?”

“Whatever,” Robert muttered. “Anything that can get me shot of _this_ quicker,” he gestured between them, “Well – it’s gotta be worth a try, doesn’t it?”

Aaron looked at him, and, like he was making a remark about the weather, went back on script, saying, “Nothing. I didn’t send anyone a note.”

Robert’s hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

*****

The rush of euphoria was as dizzying as the sudden spin that saw him whirled into the portacabin – but Robert found his bearings almost immediately…hand down Aaron’s tracksuit bottoms and jerking his cock, as Aaron returned the favour.

And God but it was a pity that he couldn’t keep _this_ , at least. This one moment. Not the whole thing, obviously – but a stripped-down, bare-minimum version. What harm would it do if Robert kept a hazy memory of a spectacular handjob from some nameless bloke in a grotty little office? Surely leaving that one loose thread wouldn’t unravel the entire enterprise?

Except, he had to admit – as he sped up the movement of his hand – that even if that were possible, it still wouldn’t work. Because so much of the excitement of this moment came from the thrill of familiarity – from knowing that this was happening with _Aaron_.

Aaron’s thumb stroking over the head of his cock and making his whole body jolt, Aaron, moody, stubborn Aaron, who two days of hard labour would only warily unfurl as far as some bloke-ish jibing…but who had initiated this encounter, walking away from Paddy and deliberately asking Robert to the portacabin, alone, where the air they breathed was thick with intent, even before Aaron had said, “He reckons me and you are gonna get it back on,” and moved into Robert’s space to kiss him. Aaron, who would never, ever let on to being impressed by anything Robert said or did – but who _must_ be, at least sometimes, because, well – here they were. 

And all he could do was enjoy it, while it lasted. Robert breathed out, hard, against Aaron’s neck, mouthing his skin mindlessly. “Aaron,” he said, in between kisses.

Aaron’s hand moved faster, and Robert bit his lip. The palm of his other hand touched Robert’s bare side, holding him steady. It took an almost superhuman effort to draw back his head from its resting place in the crook of Aaron’s neck, but he did. “Aaron,” he said again. “Aaron, look at me.”

But despite the way his hand was wrapped around Robert’s cock, touching him as personally as it was possible to do – his head was turned to the side, stripping the act of some of its intimacy. As if he _was_ just some nameless bloke giving Robert a handjob in a portacabin, and not –

“ _Aaron_ ,” Robert said again, and squeezed Aaron’s cock a little tighter for emphasis. It didn’t have any discernible effect – and finally, Robert reached out with his free hand, catching Aaron’s chin, fingers scraping against his beard as he forced Aaron to face him again. Not that it made much difference, since Aaron immediately looked down, away from Robert’s gaze.

Robert kept stroking him, even as he moved closer, kissing the side of Aaron’s jaw, the corner of his lips. “Aaron,” he groaned, mashing the name against his mouth. Robert kept going, speaking even as he got lost in kissing Aaron’s face. “Aaron – look at me. Please. Just – look at me.”

For just a moment, Aaron did – gaze blue and blazing.

And then he closed his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m _serious_ , Rob. Yeah, sometimes you mess up, and do stupid things. But that doesn’t change the fact that when you set your mind on something…when you decide you _want_ something enough – you _make_ it happen. No matter what it takes.” She pauses. “Which, don’t get me wrong, can be a bit scary, but also – sort of inspirational.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AhahahahaHA...this is the chapter that didn't want to end. But in my defence, I really didn't want an Aaronless update.
> 
> Also, I am weirdly amused by how determinedly unsexy a lot of the Robert/Aaron make out settings are. I mean, the YouTube video titles say it all, don't they? It's all "Barn Sex" and "Portacabin Sex" and "Robert and Aaron kiss in the toilets" (I love the front and centre urinal in that last one).

It’s been nagging at Robert from the word go – the backslaps, the shoulder pats, the private conversations…the sheer, unrelenting _closeness_ of Adam and Aaron Livesy. Even when he’d been putting it down to amplified, obnoxious mateyness, it had been like this persistent, insistent itch in the corner of his eye. And now, now that he knows Aaron is gay, he finally understands _why _.__

__The incessant, ALL CAPS best-friend act might have been believable coming from Adam, who is the living, breathing definition of ‘obvious’…but from Aaron _Livesy_? Aaron, who, from what Robert can see, is basically a walking frown?_ _

__Clearly, there’s something more going on there._ _

__

____

*****

Robert asks around. Well – he _tries_.

“Here we go – an Americano to remember,” Bob Hope says, placing the mug in front of him with a flourish, only to stop and say, “I’m sorry – that was probably in poor taste.”

Robert stares at him, because – _what_? Bob blinks back. 

But, as oddly solicitous as Bob is (customer service is clearly bordering on a kink for the man – he treats Robert as if he’s made of glass) –when Robert casually works the conversation around to Vic…and Adam, Bob clams right up, sucking in air with an audible pained sound. 

“Oohh, I don’t know if that’s quite…I mean…you’re not meant to force it, are you? It’s supposed to happen organically…like a natural process. That’s what the doctors always say, isn’t it? Well – on the telly, anyway.”

Robert frowns at him, trying to make sense of this projectile vomit of nonsense. “Are you saying you can’t _remember_ anything about Adam?”

“No,” Bob says. “That’s not what I’m…” he stops, shakes his head, puts up a finger. “I see what’s happened here. It’s all a bit confusing, isn’t it?”

Great. And Vic had said the man _hadn’t_ had brain surgery recently? With every word out of his mouth, that becomes harder and harder to believe. Maybe it’s just early onset Alzheimer’s?

Or Robert’s somehow had the good luck to engage the village idiot for information. 

The blonde at the next table obviously thinks so too. “Wow, Dad – just…wow.” She smiles at Robert and says, “Robert, right? I’m Carly.”

She’s attractive – very, with cheeky eyes and an untidy topknot – and obviously way more clued in than her father, because she says, “And, if it’s gossip you’re looking for, you should park yourself over here.”

“Oh, I don’t think” – Bob starts, but Carly cuts him off by saying, “Yeah, obviously, but I _do_ …which is why Robert should come and sit with me.” She pointedly looks around the table she’s at, alone, and says, “There’s plenty of room.”

“Not…really the objection I was going to make,” Bob mutters as Robert brings his mug over.

“So…?” Carly says with a kind of relish, putting her elbows on the table, waiting for an explanation. 

Robert dusts off his best wry smile, ducks his head in feigned sheepishness. “All right,” he says, “Feel free to tell me it’s none of my business and I’m just...being an over-protective big brother. But I _would_ like to know a bit more about the bloke my little sister’s hoping to spend the rest of her life with.”

She looks at him for a long moment, purposefully stretching out the suspense before sitting back and deciding, “I’m not going to say I know all the details – because I’m not _that_ sad, but…I can give you the basics. It’ll cost you though.” She holds up her cup. “One refill – to start.”

“I think I could stretch to that,” Robert tells her.

She eyes him up. “Man of means, eh? Go on then. Impress me.”

It’s a lot easier than trying to get information out of Bob. More fun, too, given the heavy flirting. He knows how to play this game – more than that, he _likes_ playing it. Obviously, so does Carly.

And the conversation about Adam is…interesting. Somehow everything Carly reveals manages to be both disquieting (turns out Vic’s married to a criminal who has served hard time), and unsurprising at the same time ( _of course_ he’s served time. Stealthy is not an adjective anyone in their right mind would apply to Adam Barton). He feels a vague stab of guilt – but seriously, did Andy and Diane not raise _any_ objections to Vic shackling herself to this guy almost as soon as she turned twenty one? Robert was busy being basically estranged from his family – he has _some_ excuse at least. Andy and Diane were right _here,_ apparently cheering her on.

“And what about Aaron?” Robert asks finally, leaning forward on the table to mirror Carly’s posture.

Carly leans back, a frown on her face. “What?”

“Aaron Livesy,” Robert prompts.

“Yeah, I know who he _is_ – Heathcliff in a hoodie – I just…don’t really see what he’s got to do with anything.”

“He and Adam seem close,” Robert points out.

“Brothers from another mother, I think the phrase is,” Bob chimes in, looking up from the table behind them, which he’s been assiduously wiping down for the last five minutes. When Carly whirls around in her seat, he says, with a shrug, “What? The cat’s well and truly out of the bag by now.”

But Carly’s not so forthcoming about Aaron – or she just knows less about him. “We don’t really hang out, so…” she says with a shrug. She taps her fingers against the table, and it’s obvious that her stream of information has dried up.

Robert takes the last sip of his coffee, and says, “Well, thanks for all you’ve told me. It’s been very - enlightening.”

Carly glances up at him, thoughtfulness dissipating as she grins, small and sharp. “And,” she says, “At least two thirds of it are true.”

“Two thirds?”

She tilts her head to the side. “A girl’s gotta find some way to amuse herself in a place like this, doesn’t she?” 

Robert finds himself smiling back. “Well then, you’ve got two thirds of my gratitude.”

She assesses him frankly, with a slow sweep of her eyes. “And just what would I have to do to get the other third?”

Robert is saved from having to answer by the sudden, dramatic coughing fit Bob pitches. It goes on and on, increasing in volume every time he tries to open his mouth, so finally, he shuts it and waits.

“Sorry about that,” Bob says, after a final, lengthy throat clearing. “Can’t think what came over me. Something must have gone down the wrong way.” He gestures over to the counter. “Carly, sweetheart – a word?” 

She rolls her eyes as he stands there waiting, feet planted, obviously not going anywhere until she gives in. As she stands, she says to Robert, with a raise of her eyebrows, “To be continued?”

“Definitely – some other time,” he says, even though there’s no chance. He feels a bit regretful about it – Carly’s goodlooking, fun, up for it…on the surface, that’s all his criteria satisfied. But underneath _that_ , he’s also clearly sensed the potential for messiness – up for it and _easy_ are two very different things. And messy’s the last thing he needs right now, things with Chrissie being the way they are. If he _was_ going to do this (and there’s a part of him that’s tempted, given how unreasonable Chrissie’s being), well, it’d have to be with someone discreet. Someone who could keep a secret. A stranger, preferably. Definitely not a local – that’s just asking for trouble. 

Robert’s got good instincts – that’s how he’s managed as long as he has without getting caught. A few one night stands here and there – and no-one gets hurt. To be honest, he’s still amazed that it’s backfired so spectacularly on him. He’d had it _sussed_.

A one night stand’s not a commitment – it’s just sex. A bit of fun, over and done with, until the next time and the next person. It’s not _feelings_ and phone calls and incriminating texts and inevitable slip ups. It’s not an _affair_. He’s never made that mistake – and with Chrissie threatening divorce and no doubt eager to shaft him any way she can, he’s not going to start now.

Heading for the door, he hears Carly say, voice growing louder, “– well, _I_ don’t judge people like that.”

Bob doesn’t even seem like he’s trying to insult her when he says, “Only because you can’t afford to!”

Robert exits. Definitely not worth the hassle.

*****

The scrapyard’s, well, a scrapyard – a jumble of junk and broken things, the guts and bones of old, wrecked cars, and then in the middle of it, a functionally ugly little portacabin that appears to serve as the base of operations.

Robert gives a cursory look around after he knocks and enters – taking in and discarding the dull details. Fireblanket near the door, sheets of paper stuck to the walls, hard hats and safety glasses slung carelessly on coat hooks. Just a grotty little office. The kind of small shared space you’d go mad in, if you had to share it with someone else. 

Unless, of course, you got on with that person really, really well.

“So, this is where the magic happens, is it?” Robert says, by way of greeting, gaining confidence from how utterly thrown Adam looks. 

“Robert – what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d just pop in – show an interest. See where my brother in law works.”

“Right,” Adam says. “Vic know you’re here then?”

“I didn’t run it past her on my daily schedule, if that’s what you’re asking.” Robert leans against the closed door – makes a show of glancing around, taking everything in.

“Well, now you’ve seen it,” Adam says, obviously trying for blokey bonhomie, but even though the tone of his voice calls for spread-wide arms, his stay folded across his chest. 

“I’ve just got here – you not going to give me the grand tour?”

Adam shrugs. “Not much to it, is there?”

“Well, I can see why you didn’t go into sales,” Robert says, with the same faux friendliness. 

“Yeah – way too honest for that,” Adam shoots back, quicker than Robert would’ve given him credit for. “Think I’ll leave all that stuff to you.”

Robert aims a half-smile at the ground, acknowledging the hit, before looking up and saying, “Aaron not around, is he?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason. Actually…I wanted to have a word with you. On your own.”

Adam frowns at him, but uncrosses his arms, turning up his palms in a clear, ‘go ahead’ gesture.

“Look – I know we’ve not got off to the best start,” Robert says. Calm. Reasonable. “You’ve heard a lot of things about me – about things I’ve done in the past – and because of that, you don’t trust that I’m genuine. I understand that. I might not agree with you, but I can understand why you’d think it.”

Robert pushes to the back of his mind the part of him that wants to comment that Adam’s very judgmental for someone with a _prison record_ , and focuses on sincerity. Making a connection.

He takes a step closer, locks his eyes on Adam’s. Gives him the hard sell. “The thing is – whatever it is you feel about me…let’s keep it like that. Between us. Don’t drag Victoria into it.”

“What?” Adam looks confused. The expression seems right at home on his face. “What are you talking about? I’m not dragging Vic into anything.”

“Of course you’re not. I’m sure she’s been miserable the last couple of days for a completely different reason. Can’t think of one, mind – but…you know best.”

“Hang on – Vic’s miserable? Since when?”

“Offhand, I’d say since you decided that going out with your mate was more important than spending time with her.” Robert can’t resist adding, “Maybe if you’d actually been around a bit more often, you’d have noticed.”

Adam gapes at him. “You’re saying _I’m_ making her miserable? You’ve got some nerve, mate. Ever stop to think that if Vic’s feeling a bit down, it might not be because of _me_?”

Robert nods, like he’s considering it – even as he says, “Well, since I’m not the one staying out all night drinking with my best mate _Aaron_ – not really, no.”

“What? I’ve not been staying out all” – Adam stops. “You’re saying that she’s upset because I’ve been having a few jars with Aaron lately? Sorry – not buying it. Vic’s not like that. She’d never kick up over something so small – and not now. Not when…” he presses his lips together, shakes his head. 

“Maybe it’s not that small,” Robert says. “I mean, it can’t be easy realising you’re someone’s second priority.”

Adam frowns at him. “Vic’s not my second priority.”

“Really? Because that’s not how you’ve been acting.”

“Yeah, right. Cause I’m really going to take advice from _you_ on marriage.” Adam strikes out, but the words lack the necessary bitter conviction to sting.

Robert shakes it off – turns it around and uses it. Aimed right, weakness can be a weapon too. “Well, maybe you should.” He lets his shoulders slump. “Because you’re looking at what happens when you take someone for granted. You start thinking they’ll always be there…and then, one day, before you know it – they’re not.”

“That what happened between you and Chrissie then?” It’s not as barbed as it should be. Adam’s guarded, but he’s also looking at Robert like he’s actually registering what he’s saying.

“I’m sure it didn’t help,” he says, making it clear from his tone that the subject is closed. Yeah, if he didn’t even tell Chrissie the whole story, he’s definitely not letting Adam Barton read the fine print. 

Robert pushes himself off the door to stand straight. “Look – whatever else you think of me, Vic’s still my little sister. I don’t want her to get hurt. So – hate me if you want…just, don’t take it out on her.” He reaches for the door handle, but turns back to say, “Think about it, yeah?”

*****

And, despite all appearances to the contrary (Adam’s like a well-oiled, but very basic machine – the kind of bloke where the first thing people say about him is “He’s got a good heart.” This, in Robert’s opinion, says it all), he must do.

Because the next morning, Victoria floats into the kitchen, bends down, and wraps her arms around Robert’s shoulders. She presses a kiss to his cheek, and says, “Thank you.”

Robert puts down the slice of toast in his hand, and says, “What’s this in aid of?”

Vic squeezes him a bit tighter before she lets go entirely. It’s nice. She pulls out the chair next to Robert and says, “Me and Adam had a talk last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Which you should already know since you’re the one who put it in Adam’s head.” She lays her hands on the table, and fixes her eyes on him. “I should probably be telling you that I don’t need you to rescue me from anything, and that I can look after myself,” she holds up her index finger, “– which, by the way, true, and true – so don’t go making a habit out of this or anything.” 

Her voice softens again. “But…thank you. For caring. And for trying to be a good brother.”

“Hold on a minute – _trying_?” Robert says.

“I appreciate it,” Vic says. “And – you were right, for the record.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Thought that’d get your attention,” she comments. “Listen – I’m not going to get all dramatic and say you saved my marriage or anything, because…well, that’s just stupid. But I _do_ feel like we’re back on track – which is weird, because I hadn’t even realised that we weren’t.” She eyes him. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Sometimes it turns out that all you really need’s a bit of outside perspective.”

“Well, I’m glad that I could help,” Robert says, and he means it, even if Vic’s still way too good for the guy she’s gone and promised forever to. At the very least, Adam’s shown he does have some appreciation for what he’s got. Not nearly _enough_ – but it’s a start. Besides, forever’s a pretty relative term, these days – if his sister ever does change her mind.

“I’m happy you feel like that,” Vic says. “ _Because_ …” She trails off leadingly, and Robert stiffens. “What?”

“Andy’s going out for a drink this evening, and I want you to go with him.”

“No way,” Robert says, immediately.

“Why not?”

“I would’ve thought that’d be obvious. Vic – Andy hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Vic says, though she has to follow that up with a feeble-sounding, “He just…thinks he does.”

“That’s reassuring.”

She sighs. “Look, Rob, I know it’s awkward, but – you did say you wanted to make things right. With _all_ of us, if I remember your exact words.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I knew Andy could barely stand the sight of me. Half the time he acts like standing next to me is gonna give him some disease.” He pointedly glances at the empty chairs around the table. “You don’t see us sitting down to breakfast together, do you?”

“Oh come on – it’s not _that_ bad anymore. He’s stopped leaving the room when he sees you’re there, hasn’t he? That’s progress.”

“Yeah. Until I go out with him tonight, and say the wrong thing and he hits me.”

Victoria looks at him. 

“I’m not saying I’d do it on _purpose,_ ” Robert defends. “But, realistically – there’s only so many ways this can go when Andy’s determined to take everything I do the wrong way.” He meets her eyes. “Look, Vic - we both know what’s going to end up happening. We have a drink, I end up saying the wrong thing to him, he hauls off and hits me. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just stay home and skip the black eye.”

“Oh come on – it’s a drink in The Woolpack, not Fight Club.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Andy’ll have an audience when he goes off. Not seeing how that’s going to improve matters.” 

“Yeah, well, you and him aren’t going to magically patch things up if you won’t even _try_. And” – she says, before abruptly cutting herself off.

“What?” he asks, caught by her tone.

“I was just gonna say – maybe Andy needs to hear ‘the wrong thing.’ God knows, Diane and I’ve been trying to say the right one for months, and that’s not made any difference. Maybe what he needs right now is – some outside perspective. A bit of a push.”

“You’re telling me you _want_ me to push Andy?” Robert says, sceptical.

“Well, not over a cliff or anything, but…” She looks at him, wide open and sincere. “I’m saying – I have faith in you.”

Robert side-eyes her. “And where did that come from?”

“I’m _serious_ , Rob. Yeah, sometimes you mess up, and do stupid things. But that doesn’t change the fact that when you set your mind on something…when you decide you _want_ something enough – you _make_ it happen. No matter what it takes.” She pauses. “Which, don’t get me wrong, can be a bit scary, but also – sort of inspirational.”

She reaches out and covers his hand with hers. “And I think that Andy could use someone like that right now. Because he’s going through a really hard time.”

“I know,” Robert lowers his voice. “And I feel bad for him, I do” –

“So _be there_ for him,” Vic tells him, exasperated. 

“It’s not that easy, Vic. He won’t let me.”

“And since when have you ever let that stand in your way?” she argues. “Rob – yesterday you talked Adam round to your point of view just like _that_ , and he’s…well, let’s just say he’s not exactly your biggest fan.”

“Adam’s not Andy, though, is he?”

“No,” she admits, “– but you can do it. I know you can.” She puts an arm around his shoulders, before adding, like an afterthought, “Besides, me and Adam have got the sitting room all booked for tonight. I’m talking wine, Netflix, family sized bar of chocolate…and not to get all TMI on you, but there _will_ be some major PDA happening between the hours of eight and eleven. So…”

“You’re kicking me and Andy out, is what you’re saying,” Robert translates.

 

*****

 

Andy takes his presence in the same clenched-jaw spirit he seems to take everything Robert does. 

“You know, this ‘pretending it doesn’t bother you’ act…not actually fooling anyone,” he points out finally, as Andy nurses his beer. “You are allowed to say what you really think – you’re not gonna hurt my feelings. I’m not exactly jumping for joy here myself.”

“It’s not an act,” Andy says. “I know it’s probably hard for you to believe, but there are people in this world who really don’t give a damn about you one way or the other. And I’m one of them.”

“Right,” Robert mutters. Andy addresses him with a kind of bitten back intensity that really doesn’t lend itself to the ‘not giving a damn’ claim. “That’s me convinced, then.”

They lapse into yet another rocky silence, and Robert glances around the bar again. Aaron’s sitting up by the counter, on his own – just a dark, slumped back and a profile to Robert, but it gives him a little twist of satisfaction every time he looks over. At least he’s not the only one whose night isn’t going according to plan.

“I’m going to get us another drink,” Robert says, impatiently cutting across Andy’s, “I don’t” – with “Yeah, yeah, I know – you don’t care. Change the record, why don’t you?”

He makes his way to the bar, and eases in alongside Aaron. Without looking at him he says, “He’s at home, by the way.”

“What?” He can feel Aaron’s head turn, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Adam,” Robert clarifies. “Your other half? In case you were wondering why you’ve been stood up.”

Aaron doesn’t answer, and Robert risks a look then, to see how he takes it when he adds, “He and Vic are making a night of it, apparently. They looked quite snug when I left them.”

Aaron stares at him. “And you’re telling me this – why?”

He shrugs. “Thought you might be interested, that’s all. Considering how close you and Adam seem to be.”

He holds Aaron’s gaze, trying to read his face, when there’s a hurried _clack, clack_ and Chas Dingle says loudly – “What can I get you?”

Both their heads snap around to her. Robert feels unaccountably annoyed at the interruption. “Oh, you’re serving me now, are you?”

“Ask me for a drink and find out, why don’t you?” she says through gritted teeth. And, because he can’t think of an excuse not to, he does. 

“Don’t suppose you’d want to join us,” Robert says, lightly, as he waits.

Back turned to them, Chas puts down the empty pint glasses with enough force to make them ring.

“You what?” Aaron sounds nonplussed. His eyes flick over Robert.

“Seeing as your friend’s dropped you, and left you with nothing better to do.” It wasn’t even like Adam’d needed all that much convincing, and Robert wants to hammer that point home for Aaron. 

“Thought you were done trying to be nice to me,” Aaron says. He goes back to staring at the counter. “If that’s what this is.”

“Why don’t you go back to your table, and I’ll drop your drinks over,” Chas suggests.

“I’m fine where I am, thanks,” Robert snaps. To Aaron, again, he says, “Yeah, well, considering how Andy’s acting right now, _you’d_ actually count as a friendly face. Yeah – I know. And, like I said, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, so…”

“Aaron, did I tell you that Paddy wants” –

Aaron ignores her, and raises his glass, tipping the last of his pint down his throat. “Think I’ll pass,” he says, once he’s finished swallowing, before walking off without so much as a goodbye or backwards glance at Robert.

Chas places his and Andy’s drinks on the counter. “You just can’t take a hint, can ya?” Her voice is equal parts censure and satisfaction.

“This what they call ‘service with a smile’ these days?” Robert shoots back.

In response, Chas slides the glasses closer to him, and scrunches up her nose and mouth in what could be considered a pleasant expression. If you were standing far enough away, that is. “Choke on it,” she advises.

When he puts the drinks down on their table, Andy actually looks like he’s considering not drinking it, to make a point, but Robert says, “Yeah, if you care enough to make a fuss, then you officially care too much. Drink up.”

Andy makes it halfway down the pint, though it seems like every swallow might kill him. Robert swigs his own drink moodily, feeling the tension build inside him. Every so often he looks up, and sees Chas Dingle’s eyes on him, narrowed and watchful. And every time he tries to make conversation with Andy – to say something _real_ , make some kind of connection – he gets knocked right back.

It was bound to happen – he’d told Victoria as much earlier…the only surprise is that it takes this long. And maybe he _could_ do it – just hold his tongue the short distance from the pub to the cottage, but – he doesn’t want to. Yeah, maybe he doesn’t always say the wrong thing on purpose…but sometimes, sometimes he does. There’s a kind of relief in it, deliberate and messy – like knocking over a tower of blocks and scattering them as far as he can. He and Andy have been headed for this since he came back – what’s even the point in avoiding it indefinitely? 

“So. That’s it.” The night is clear and mild, and the noise they make walking sounds like it’s disturbing the quiet. A car passes them with a whoosh, but even that seems muffled.

Andy just grunts, and goaded Robert quickens his pace, says, “I take it this isn’t going to be a regular thing for us, then. Not that you’d care if it was, obviously.” He laughs.

Andy stops. Turns. Maybe he’s found the evening as long as Robert has. “ _What_?”

Oh yeah – Andy doesn’t care. You could melt Robert’s face off with the sheer force of his _indifference_.

“Nothing,” Robert says. “I’m just wondering what it takes to get through to you these days.”

“More than you’ve got – so don’t bother trying,” Andy says, swinging around again. Even in the dark, Robert can see that his fists are balled up at his sides.

“I’ll bet – considering Vic and Diane have been giving it their best shot…for months, apparently – and they’ve got nothing back.”

“Robert – I’m warning you. Drop it.”

“All right,” he agrees, striding after Andy, “As soon as you tell me this – what are you getting out of it?”

Andy stops again. Turns. “What?”

“This ‘poor me, I’m dead inside’ act. What d’you get out of it?”

Andy takes a sharp breath in, but says, “It’s not an act. We’re not all like you – just doing things for show.”

“I don’t believe you. Mind you, it’s good enough to fool Vic and Diane, but it’s definitely an act…because you’re way too invested in making me _think_ you don’t care, for someone who genuinely doesn’t give a shit.” He gets in front of Andy. “Look, nobody’s expecting you to be all right – you can be sad, or angry or whatever, Vic and Diane aren’t going to judge you. They just don’t want you pushing everything down and pretending like nothing matters anym” – 

It hits him suddenly, and he lets the incredulous smile peek through his words. “Hang on – d’you think it’s romantic or something? You do, don’t you? You actually think she’d be _impressed_ with this.”

“Who are you talking about?” Andy asks, low and dangerous. “Because if you’re saying what I think you’re” –

“Katie,” Robert says, and there’s that pindrop moment where he knows he’s gone too far. He keeps going – like cycling down a hill too fast, he can’t stop now. “You think she’s looking down on you, and what? _Swooning_ , or something? Mate – I hate to break it to you, but the Katie I remember, would think it was _pathetic_.”

It happens so fast that by the time he reaches up his hand to cup his aching jaw, he’s already sprawled on his arse on the hard ground, Andy breathing heavily as he looms over him. Robert touches his hand to his mouth. 

“Don’t you _ever_ ,” Andy says, “try to tell me what Katie would think about this. Because you know _nothing_ about it.”

“I knew Katie,” Robert points out. His face is throbbing. His lip is bleeding – he can feel it sliding warm and wet down his chin. “And maybe you don’t want to admit it – but it’s the truth. And she’d be the first to tell you.”

Andy looks at Robert for a long moment. All he says is, “Get up.”

Robert takes his time getting his hands under him and levering himself to his feet. Firstly, because he just got knocked down and he’s a bit disoriented. And secondly, because he’s not sure Andy’s done using his fists.

But before he’s even stood up, Andy’s turning and walking away.

*****

 

“Did you completely miss the part where I said _not_ to push him over a cliff?” Vic says, as she dabs a wet cloth at his jaw, cupping Robert’s face to hold him still as he flinches. 

“Yeah, well, I told you this was going to happen.”

“Excuse me for hoping that was an exaggeration. I thought maybe you’d end up having a slanging match or something, not that you’d try and rearrange each other’s faces.”

“Oh, did Andy get in another fight before he came back here then?” Robert asks. “Because from what I remember, _this_ was pretty one-sided.” He touches his mouth again with ginger fingers.

“It’s not like I got the full story from Andy. Or _any_ story, actually. He didn’t exactly stop to chat when he came in,” Vic says. She cocks her head to the side, “What did you even say to him to make him go off like that?”

He doesn’t need the disappointment and the inevitable ‘How _could_ you, Robert?’s, so he deflects with an incredulous, “What – so Andy taking it out on my face is justified because I said something he doesn’t like?”

Vic knows what he’s doing, because she frowns. “That’s not what I said.” But maybe she does have faith in him, because she lets it drop after that.

Maybe she just _wants_ to have faith.

*****

And then Andy comes down to breakfast the next morning. He sits across from Robert and stares him down while he shovels in his food, before getting up and leaving.

“What?” Robert says, when Vic raises her eyebrows at him.

“‘We’re not having exactly having breakfast together, are we?’” she reminds him. “That’s what you said yesterday, isn’t it? _Well_ …” she tips her head at the door Andy’s just walked out of, meaning clear. 

The whole left side of his face feels sore and swollen, stretching his own breakfast into a careful, time-consuming process. Of course Robert’s a little sour the morning after. “Oh yeah, now he feels like he can eat toast in front of me. That’s all our problems solved, isn’t it? We didn’t say one word to each other.” 

Vic seems less than sympathetic. “Well, considering how it went the last time you two tried to have a conversation, maybe you need to work your way up to small talk.”

*****

Still, she takes him for a drink after work, so maybe she feels a little bit bad for him. Robert knows he should enjoy it, not least because it means Andy’s not told her what actually happened last night, but he finds himself gritting his teeth through it instead (figuratively speaking – given the state of his face).

Adam’s at another table across the pub – with Aaron Livesy. Heads close together, shoulders touching. Talking about god knows what – though occasionally Robert catches the sound of them laughing. It’s like a bad case of deja-vu, all over again.

He takes a careful sip of his drink and wonders if Adam’s mentioned him to Aaron. Be a bit weird if he’s not said anything, seeing as Robert’s currently got a face that begs a double-take, going by Diane’s reaction. But then again, maybe he hasn’t. Maybe Aaron and Adam’ve got too many other things to catch up on, now they’ve had to endure one whole night without each other’s company. Robert forgets it hurts to clench his jaw, scowling at the sudden pain, as Adam and Aaron slide right back to business as usual. 

Well, not _quite_ as usual, because every so often, Adam looks over and catches Vic’s eye. They trade small smiles and eye rolls, and Robert can’t work out whether to feel glad or irritated. His little speech to Adam clearly _took_ , but what’s the point if it’s not going to actually change things?

Robert might as well be a spare part for all the attention Vic’s paying him, and even though Adam’s doing a better job over there, it’s obvious that he’d like nothing more than to be sitting next to his wife…except, he’s not, is he? Something’s stopping him, and that something goes by the name of Aaron Livesy. 

The breaking point comes when Vic and Adam exchange yet another look, and this time, Vic gives a little wave, which Adam returns. Robert sets down his glass hard on the table and gets to his feet.

“This is ridiculous,” he says. “And I’ve had enough of it.”

“Hmm? What? Robert – what you doing?” Vic says, finally looking at him. Her eyes widen and she hisses, as if she’s reading his mind, “Sit down!”

“Just – stay there all right? I’m sorting this.” 

“What d’you mean? _Robert_!” He strides across the pub, ignoring Victoria calling after him to come back. 

Adam and Aaron look up when he stands in front of their table. Aaron just raises his eyebrows at him, like ‘What?’ but Robert can feel his eyes on the damaged side of his face like they’re physically pressing down on the bruises. 

Adam manages a, “Robert – you alright, mate?” that sounds halfway sincere, if wary.

Robert marshals a mostly one-sided smile. “Right,” he says. “I know it’s probably a bit much, asking you two to join us,” he gestures over at Victoria, whose eyes are glued to them. He makes it clear how ludicrous he finds the whole situation in the tone of his voice. “But you can at least let me buy the next round.”

Aaron glares up at him. “How many times d’you have to hear” –

“Sounds alright – cheers,” Adam interrupts. “Same again, thanks.”

Aaron whips his head round at Adam, who protests, feebly, “He did offer – and…it’s just a drink.” 

“I don’t believe this.” Aaron shakes his head and shoves his chair back with a loud scraping sound that makes Adam wince, even as he hurriedly does the same. “Aaron, mate – wait up!” 

He takes a second to tap Robert on the shoulder and says, “You get the drinks in – I’ll talk him round,” before he’s following after Aaron.

“Oooh, looks like someone’s in the doghouse,” a darkhaired woman mutters to her companion, a vague, gormless looking bloke, as Adam brushes past her. “Sleeping on the sofa tonight for sure.”

Vic’s halfway out of her seat, though she grudgingly sits back down when Robert gestures at her. “It’s fine,” he tells her, “I’m just getting them some drinks. Stop worrying.”

“Yeah – chance’d be a fine thing,” she grumbles, though she settles herself again.

He orders the drinks – then, as he sets them down on his and Vic’s table, he says, “You look after those – I’m just gonna see what’s taking so long.” He pretends not to hear her calling after him as he trails in the direction Adam went. 

He waits for a second by the doors that lead out to the corridor that houses the toilets, just long enough to hear Adam saying, “-know it’s not easy, but…it’s not like it’s forever. Might as well make the best of it, eh?” - before he pushes his way in.

“I just” – Aaron begins, before catching sight of Robert over Adam’s shoulder and straightening up.

“Everything all right?” Robert asks, eyes flicking over both of them. They're standing just outside the men's toilets. Adam’s got a hand on Aaron’s arm.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Adam says.

“Only, the drinks are up, so…unless you like your beer warm…”

“Right,” Adam says, and makes a show of rubbing his palms together. “We’d better get a move on, then, hadn’t we?” He nudges Aaron before stepping back, deliberately, dropping another, “Cheers,” at Robert as he passes. He probably expects Robert to follow him, now that he’s done it, finally compromised and chosen Robert (…well, Vic) over his friend.

Instead, Robert tries not to smirk (though not that hard – it’s worth the throb), and raises his eyebrows at Aaron.

Who makes an exasperated face and pushes into the toilets.

Robert immediately ducks in after him, and when Aaron realises this and turns, he does this affronted little jerk of his head, like a cat that’s suddenly been splashed with water. They’re alone, Robert realises suddenly.

“What?” Aaron says.

He’s over by the sink, while Robert’s standing near the entrance, about as far back as he can get and still be in the same room. He takes a step closer. Tells Aaron, “You know, I think I’ve figured out exactly what’s going on here.”

Aaron’s eyes flick around the space, avoiding his gaze. Deadpan. “Yeah, it’s the men’s room. Wouldn’t have thought it’d need all that much figuring out, to be honest.”

Robert refuses to be distracted. Takes another step forward. “I meant – with _you_. I’ve figured out what’s going on with you. Why you’re acting like I’ve just set fire to your house and kicked your dog.”

Aaron’s head does that affronted jerk again. “Oh. Right,” he says. “Enlighten me then.”

His voice is flat, but his mouth and eyes are working – all these subtle little expressions chasing over his face…Robert can’t read them, but he drinks them in all the same. It’s proof he’s getting some kind of reaction, at least. 

“Thing is, Vic’s told me a bit about you,” he says. He sticks his hands into his pockets, casual.

“Has she?” He’s determinedly unimpressed, but Robert ploughs on, because this is going to be worth it. “Not everything, of course. Just the basics – the sort of person you are…the kind of things you - _like_.”

He rakes Aaron from head to toe with his eyes, and hopes he doesn’t have to spell out that he’s talking about sexual orientation. From the way Aaron immediately looks away, Robert thinks he probably gets it.

“- and now, everything makes sense to me. You’re using me, aren’t you?”

“What?” The genuine confusion he hears in Aaron’s voice is not what he expects, but he takes it as a kind of victory anyway.

“I’m just saying – this weird grudge you’ve got against me gives you the perfect excuse to have your little boys’ club with Adam, doesn’t it?”

Aaron stares at him.

“Must be nice – him being so worried about you,” Robert goes on. “Skipping out on Vic to make sure you’re okay. All these cosy little chats, just the two of you. Must take you back to before he got married.”

Aaron’s mouth opens slightly. Closes. Robert thinks this might be his equivalent of gape-mouthed shock. “Hang on – just so we’re clear here – you’re accusing me of having it off with _Adam_?”

“Of course not,” Robert says too quickly. Smoothly. And he’s not, not really. Adam’s barely capable of managing the life he’s got, let alone successfully juggling a double one. But Aaron…well, doomed frustrated lust for a straight bloke…it’s a bit cliché and disappointing (a bit _Lawrence_ , to be honest), but it _would_ explain a lot. “But - it _is_ how it comes across. I’m just – showing you what this looks like to an impartial observer.”

“Oh yeah – ‘cos that’s what you are.” More mouth opening, closing. Finally, Aaron settles on saying, voice thrumming with anger, “Me and Adam are _mates_ \- not that you’d know anything about that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Robert says, loading on so much sincerity he hopes it sticks in Aaron’s teeth. “And I’m sure anything more than that never crossed your mind – not in all the time you’ve been... _mates_.”

A loaded pause.

“I – don’t see what that’s got to do with anything,” Aaron manages.

Not a no, then, Robert notes.

“More than that, I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Aaron adds, stronger, finding his feet.

“It’s my business because it affects Vic,” Robert says. “Or…had you forgotten about her?”

“She ask you to get involved then? Since you’re such an expert on _marriage_.”

Unlike his brother in law's limp insults, this time, the jab is appropriately vehement. Still, it's nice to know that he's obviously formed some part of those whispered conversations between Adam and Aaron. 

“I see you’ve been asking about me,” Robert says. Aaron looks away, lips pressed together. He adds, with a touch of self-satisfied sanctimony, because Aaron’s walked himself right into it – “And it doesn’t take an _expert_ to realise that a good marriage shouldn’t have three people in it.”

Aaron studies the ceiling. “Can’t argue with that, I suppose,” he has to admit, though Robert is disappointed that he sounds neither abashed nor cowed. He spreads his hands before letting them fall back against his thighs. It’s the tiniest of movements, but it catches Robert’s eye. All Aaron’s gestures are minimal, economical, with no wasted effort. 

“And Vic doesn’t have to _ask_ me to care about her. She’s my sister,” he adds, belatedly aware of the growing silence.

“And she’s my mate,” Aaron says, looking right at him again, challenging. “Just like Adam is. Funny that – sort of goes against your whole stupid theory.”

“Then prove it,” he says quickly, and there’s a kind of visceral fulfillment in throwing Aaron so far off balance – it makes him want to keep doing it, keep finding ways to surprise him, to keep him staring at Robert and searching for words. 

“What?” 

“Sit down with us, and have a drink. If Vic’s your mate – and Adam’s _definitely_ your mate – then you shouldn’t have a problem with it.” He takes another step closer. “Unless of course, I’m right, and there’s more to it.” He raises his eyebrows at Aaron, and he can’t help it, the thrill of satisfaction at having him backed into a corner comes out in his voice as he finishes, “Up to you.”

“Right. Cos if I don’t want to share a drink with you, obviously I’m trying to break up my best friend’s marriage.” He’s staring at Robert as if he’s a species he’s never come across before.

Robert shrugs. “I can’t help it if that’s the way it looks.” He holds out his arm, gesturing the way out. 

Aaron shakes his head slowly, face hard. “Yeah, well – should’ve gone to Specsavers, shouldn’t you?” before moving past, shoulder connecting so hard with Robert that it knocks him back a step. 

It doesn’t matter – nothing can dent the satisfaction he feels at having got his way, at having manoeuvred Aaron into finally sitting down at the same table as him.

That is, until they actually get back to the table, Aaron a deliberate step ahead of him. Robert lets him have that small victory – they’ll be sitting together soon enough. Adam and Vic are clearly having an intense talk, Vic half-pushing him in their direction, until she catches sight of them, and relaxes a little. “We were just wondering what happened to you two. I was about to send out the search party.” She gives Adam a distracted pat. 

“Yeah, well, there’s no need. Obviously,” Aaron tells her.

“Right – well…I’ve saved you your drink,” Adam says, “We can find another table and” –

“No need,” Aaron says again.

Vic’s eyes flick between him and Robert. “Are you – joining us?”

“Why not?” Robert says, smiling in spite of the twinge of pain it creates. He nods at Vic’s hand, still resting on Adam’s arm. “I mean, it’d be a shame to break this up, right Aaron?”

“Right,” Aaron says. “Except – I’m sort of knackered. Think I might just head up. Have an early night.”

Robert stares at him, and Aaron stares back, face blank, though Robert thinks he can trace a hint of triumph in the lines of his mouth.

“Oh – are you sure?” Vic says. 

“Yeah – there’s a table in the back…the two of us can sit there if you want,” Adam says. “It’s no big deal, is it Vic?”

“No, of course not,” she says.

“Nah. You two stay here. Enjoy the rest of your night.” He pointedly doesn’t offer Robert the same pleasantry.

“Robert – did you say something to him?” Vic asks, as they watch Aaron make his way over to the counter. “Because if you did” –

“We were in the men’s room – not exactly the place for a heart to heart,” Robert says. 

“Yeah. You’d think,” Vic says, eyes sharp on his face. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe him, and it feels like he’s meant to take it as a kind of censure as she deliberately turns away to talk to Adam. Robert watches Aaron slip behind the bar to go out the back. His mouth twists, and the sting that produces feels typical of the kind of night that it’s been.

Then, on the threshold, Aaron looks over his shoulder before disappearing from view. It’s just a sharp, startling second – their eyes clashing like swords before Aaron jerks around and away. He's never bothered looking back before.

Robert picks up his drink and takes a sip.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stared straight at Aaron. “I’m not doing this because you don’t _matter_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...I don't know. Chrissie kissing Cain is simultaneously a worst/best moment for me. Worst because...sigh, I am so not on board for Chrissie-Cain kissing - but on the other hand, Robert ORGANISED A SPITE DINNER PARTY because of it, and was just the most entertainingly terrible person in the entire world during said dinner party. Which I love, so...I guess it balances out.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who's still reading :)

“Be a shame to break up a good team,” Robert said, as Andy tried to convince Aaron to help them clear out the pit. He looked at Aaron, leaning his elbows against the back of the truck. His hands were dirty. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

Aaron’d been wary, baited into participation, yes, but skittish, as hard to get a handle on as a wet bar of soap…though Robert had kept trying. “It’s not like we’d be doing anything wrong,” he’d said, talking about that drink in The Woolpack, and thinking – _but we could. You might. I would._ The opportunity had dangled – not a sure thing by any means, but even the hint had been enough to keep Robert hungry, working for it. He was aware, the entire time, of the exact distance between his body and Aaron’s. 

This time around, Aaron seemed simply weary, as Robert followed him into Butler’s Farm kitchen – now more a rough outline of a room than part of an actual habitable house. It was all blank spots where Robert knew things were missing, but couldn’t fill in the spaces. The fridge door was bare except for a picture of Cain kissing Chrissie. That definitely hadn’t been there at the time, he thought. 

“Me and Andy can finish off here if you need to get back to the office.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“No – just, you’ve proved your point. You’re not afraid of hard graft. Don’t know why you’re sticking around.” Aaron’s words hadn’t exactly been bursting with emotion the first time – but they’d been just a shade too cautious to come off as impassive. They hadn’t been delivered in this lifeless monotone.

Robert deliberately kept his mouth shut, let the silence stretch out until Aaron turned to face him. “ _What_?”

“D’you want to try that again? With a bit of feeling this time.” He wasn’t even angry at Aaron, really. It was just…knowing that no matter how much he angled, this was all leading to a dead end. He felt like an insect throwing itself against a closed window over and over again, the impulse too strong to deny. He knew nothing was going to happen. His body still buzzed its awareness of Aaron. 

Aaron regarded him evenly before turning back around. “You know, it’s funny. The way you keep carrying on, anyone’d think you wanted to be here.”

*****

Fifteen thousand for a new grain auger, plus two extra to finance a holiday for Cain Dingle and his wife. Aaron might have _looked_ low maintenance, but between the scrapyard investment, secretive hotel stays and being blackmailed by the seedier members of Aaron’s extended family – it just went to show that appearances were bloody deceptive, weren’t they?

Because now, Cain Dingle stood in his kitchen (and Robert couldn’t help the reflexive flinch his stomach gave at the sight) and _self-righteously_ extorted him for seventeen thousand pounds, then said, straight-faced, “I’m doing this for him.”

Yeah. Cain was blackmailing him out of noble-hearted _concern_. Probably needed that holiday as a break from all that fretting he was doing about Aaron's welfare. 

“I’ve no idea what he sees in you. But from now on, you stay away from him, you understand?”

Robert tossed in a reminder about Chrissie to maintain some semblance of power, but Cain ignored it as the irrelevance it clearly was in comparison to Robert’s mistakes, and only asked, “So, do we have a deal?” like he knew the answer already.

*****

He really wouldn’t have thought that bursting through The Woolpack doors and crashing his little sister’s impromptu wedding reception could get any worse, but the fact that The Woolpack entrance seemed to be located in the hallway of Home Farm created a kind of disorientation that really didn’t help matters. Not so soon after being beaten up, at any rate.

He swallowed down the nausea as best he could, and aimed himself at Victoria. “I can’t believe you actually did it. You _married_ him.”

Andy (oh yeah, _his_ opinion’d rapidly done a 180, hadn’t it?) tried to talk him down, while Diane loudly wondered what had happened to his face, and Adam (obnoxious little wind-up merchant that he was) pushed his every last remaining button by saying –

“Looks like you’ve been beaten up, mate. Shame I wasn’t around to see it.”

Robert lunged, and there were hands – Andy’s, Chrissie’s, Aaron’s – breaking it up, pulling him and Adam apart. 

“Robert just _go home!_ If you can’t be happy for us, I don’t want you here! I don’t want you anywhere _near_ me!”

He stared at Vic, Vic who demanded Chrissie take him home and sounded on the brink of tears as she called for more drinks…and it hurt, it still _hurt_ …but at the same time it all felt…

…unreal.

Like everyone else in the scene was a doll, wound up to move with mechanical precision. Strings pulled back, ready to say the words they’d said before, but not – not understanding any of it. Paper people – flat and thin, all of them, every single one, except –

“You heard her, Robert – just go.”

He stared at Aaron, the only steady, _real_ thing in this constantly shifting landscape, and in a low voice he found himself saying, “Aaron, please – can we go somewhere?”

Aaron shook his head. “That’s not how it went, remember?”

“I don’t care, I just…we need to talk. Please.” 

Aaron’s eyes flicked to the side, to Adam and Vic, then behind Robert, to Chrissie (whose hands, Robert realised, were still on his back). “Raise a few eyebrows, wouldn’t it?”

Robert let out a disbelieving laugh. “D’you think they care? D’you think they even _notice_?” He clicked his fingers by Adam’s face, but Adam continued staring vaguely at Victoria. 

Robert shrugged off Chrissie’s hands – immobile, waiting to guide him out of the bar. Waiting for him to follow the script. She didn’t protest. “See?” he said. “My head, my rules.”

“Sounds about right,” Aaron mused, without humour. 

“Come on,” Robert said. “You’re wasting time – and who knows how long this is even going to exist…so, talk to me. For real.”

Aaron considered him. Behind the bar, Chas kept loading drinks onto the counter, like an absent-minded robot. Finally, Aaron shook his head. “Nah,” he said simply. “Reckon it’s cheating, innit?”

“Cheating? What’re you talking about? Aaron, we don’t have time for” –

“Your missus wouldn’t like it, would she?” He gestured at Chrissie. 

Robert took the barest glance at the facsimile behind him – it looked like Chrissie, and it spoke and moved like her…but only to a point. It sent a shudder down his spine and made him bite out, “Obviously, she’s not exactly ‘clued in’ at the moment though, is she?”

“I _meant_ in real life. Considering she asked you to do this in the first place, she probably wouldn’t be that keen on you and me sneaking off in the middle of it. Since you care so much what she thinks.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell her.” Robert frowned. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. Besides, Chrissie didn’t ask me to do this.”

Aaron stared at him. “Right. Of course she didn’t.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Robert demanded, but instead of answering, Aaron pushed his way through Adam and Vic (who parted, then came back together, like an agreeable sea). “Where are you going?” 

He chased Aaron into the back rooms, where Aaron rounded on him and said, “Get lost, why don’t you?”

“Not until we talk,” Robert said. 

“And say what? More things you’re only gonna wind up forgetting anyway? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you want me to explain at least?”

“Can’t say I do, really.” Aaron pulled his mouth into a straight line, shook his head. “You’re cutting me out of your life, end of. That about covers it, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing,” Robert defended, and waited for Aaron to refute him – because Aaron held onto his mistakes with both hands, white-knuckled, sliced them into his skin – the better to carry them around forever. Though that wasn’t any more highminded than Robert’s way of coping…just a different brand of fucked up. 

But Aaron looked away, said nothing.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be like this,” Robert said – quiet, intense, only to find himself shoved up against the wall, breath knocked out of him.

“I get it,” Aaron said, forearm hard against Robert’s chest. “Bit of an ego boost – that what you’re after? You want me to beg? Come over all desperate? Say things like…” He stepped forward, his stubble scraping against Robert’s cheek, voice vibrating rich and low in Robert’s ear as he said, “ _Please_ don’t go through with it, Robert. I want you to remember me. You’re making the wrong choice…let me prove it to you…”

Robert closed his eyes for a second. The pressure against his chest eased as Aaron took a step back and asked, “But just why would I want to do something like that, eh? The way I see it, I’m better off with you gone.”

“That’s not what I’m” – his voice echoed oddly in the space, and Robert looked around. His heart started to thump at the expanse of dirty walls and concrete floor. “Hang on a minute – where are we?”

Aaron receded into the background, and Robert’s body rocketed into the chair that was right behind him, hands suddenly bound.

“Right,” Cain Dingle said, stepping forward as he stripped off his jacket. “We are going to delete any photos from _this_ ,” he held up Robert’s phone, “and whatever flaming cloud you back up on…”

*****

Even knowing how everything had happened before, he couldn’t stifle the pang of fear when Aaron left – it felt magnified, if anything…like Aaron really might leave and not come back this time – _The way I see it, I’m better off with you gone._

Giving Cain the code right away really didn’t bring the scene to the abrupt and boring conclusion it should have, and he had to console himself with telling the man, “It’s not half as impressive the second time around, you know,” as he drew back his arm and swung. 

Unfortunately, it still _hurt_ as much the second time around, his whole face throbbing hot with pain, Cain applying his fists again and again no matter how often Robert said, “9384, all right – 9384! How many times do I – _it’s 9384!_ ”

Probably Cain would have done it anyway, kept going until Robert reached his breaking point, mumbling “9384,” voice nasal and thick with blood. Just to show he could, to intimidate Robert into silence, on the off-chance he couldn’t snag all the copies of the photos. 

And then, just as Cain shoved his head back, and Robert had a moment of panic at the thought of round two, worse than the first time, Aaron burst in.

The words were the same – “Cain – that’s enough!” followed by lies about having called Andy, threats to tell Moira, and rapid-fire talk about phones, blackmail, and the fear of Cain going too far, even as he palmed the keys of the car, untied Robert’s hands, and got him to his feet.

But that was just it. The words were the same… _exactly_ the same, quick and practically sweating with fear…the polar opposite of the indifference Aaron’d been trying for ever since he’d found out about this whole being-erased thing.

Of course, Robert couldn’t entirely appreciate it in the moment, since Aaron was calling out, “ _Run_!” and Cain was on their heels, pulling at the door as they slid it closed and dragged the chain across it. But in the car, as the blood dried on his face and Aaron drove them down deserted streets, past supermarkets and convenience stores with the names blanked out – he had the time to turn it over in his mind.

Back at Home Farm, Aaron’s hand was careful on his arm, his back, as he helped Robert onto a chair.

“You alright?” he said, and that sounded careful too.

It was like slipping into a groove. If you didn’t think about it, then the words just…came out. And, worn down to wearied, bloodied pulp, Robert _wasn’t_ thinking about it. “Yeah – as long as Chrissie buys the whole falling down the stairs thing, I’ll be alright.” 

Aaron turned to go, and –

“Thanks.” 

“Whatever.”

“No. I mean it. After everything it’s nice to know that you st- well, you still care about me.” The same words, again, but that didn’t make them meaningless. He wanted to say them. They felt resonant in his mouth – like they belonged, more than ever, this time. 

“Why would you even want to cross Cain?” Aaron asked, but Robert wouldn’t let it drop.

“Aaron – come on. After what just happened, you’re not gonna pretend” –

“I’m not the one who likes to play pretend.”

Robert looked down at the counter, at his left hand splayed against the wood, the glint on his ring finger. “I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?” He turned his head again. “Chrissie, the business…that’s my whole life, right there” –

“Yeah, so you keep saying” –

“– and I kept thinking – _what if it’s not enough_?” Robert said, raising his voice and talking over Aaron. “What if I got it back…and I couldn’t _make it_ be enough?”

He stared straight at Aaron. “I’m not doing this because you don’t _matter_.”

A pause as Aaron took this in. “And that’s supposed to make everything all right, is it?”

“Yes! _No._ I don’t – I don’t know.” It was strange, Robert thought, because Aaron was no different than most people he’d ever known, really. For all that outward toughness, he’d let Robert in, let Robert push him further than anyone else could, or would. Easy. Except – as far as he could be pushed, eventually Aaron pushed back. Dug his heels in, which was just another way of demanding things from Robert. Things Robert couldn’t give, even if he ever wanted to. 

And…he made Robert want things in return, small, stupid things that shouldn’t mean anything. “Just…let me have this, yeah? Just this. For a bit.” 

He waited, tensed for everything to fall apart, but Aaron didn’t say anything, and that was enough. Robert took a breath. Two. Had to ask, finally, “So – what happens now?”

Aaron tilted his head to the side. “I think this is the part where I leave,” he said simply.

*****

He got to his feet and moved, bracing his hands against the table, aches and pains all resolving into a low churn in his gut.

“Is this too much?” Chrissie asked from behind him, and he turned around.

“You look amazing,” he said – and it was true. It took his breath away with how true it was. It made him smile, even as it cored through him like a bullet through soft tissue.

“Would you tell me who’s coming? I feel like I’m on some sort of blind date.” 

“Don’t you trust me? You _do_ trust me, right?” he asked, finding that slight unease in her eyes, and pressing down, like on a bruise. There was still a satisfaction in doing it, still a satisfaction in anticipating her reaction to the arrival of their dinner guests.

“You know I do.” Guilt lent a kind of meekness to her usual self-confidence. 

But that was just - background. Because he looked at Chrissie – kept looking, and _saw her_. And the realisation shuddered through him, that, for a long time, he’d been…glancing at her, at best. He’d been looking through her – past her, _around_ her for months. 

She stood in front of him now – and he remembered her as a fully formed person, instead of an obstacle to be worked around, or placated. Someone with her own wants, and needs…and secrets. His future, standing before him in a green dress, and he thought, with a sudden lurch -

_I used to know you._

“I just – wish we could go back to how things used to be,” he heard himself say. The kind of thing people say when they know they never can.

The kind of thing people say when it’s already too late.

“What d’you mean?” Chrissie asked, and like it had before, the knock on the door came before he could answer her. Not that he would have, anyway. 

Robert did what he always did when the truth knocked him temporarily off course – and kept on moving.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently accusing Aaron of attempted homewrecking – is something of an icebreaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Der ball is finally rolling! And it only took...a million words! Ugh - writing the thing at the end was hard, because action scenes are not my forte, I'm more of a beat-around-the-bush kind of girl (as anyone reading this can tell). 
> 
> Also, amusingly, the horoscopes were snagged from one of those online thingummies, and are as accurate for the characters as the Emmerdale wikia will allow them to be :)

“Right,” Vic says, drumming her fingers on the countertop. “There’s…gardening? You had that long talk with Doug yesterday.”

“That was more of a hostage situation – I couldn’t get away,” Robert tells her. “Really not looking for anything that’d _increase_ the amount of time I’d have to spend with him.” He mentally considers Douglas Potts – a man who seems to be all green fingers and thumbs. “I still can’t believe he and Diane are together. I suppose it’s true what they say – your standards drop as you get older. Bit sad, really.”

Victoria pokes him in the arm. “Ey – he’s _nice,_ you know. Diane could do a lot worse. Has, actually.”

“Yeah?” he asks, interested, but Vic fixes him with a stern eye and says, “Uh uh, not until we’ve sorted you out first.”

“Why am I always the one who needs to be sorted out?” Honestly, anyone viewing Doug Potts as a viable object of lust is in far greater need of an intervention than Robert.

“I don’t know – why _are_ you the one who always needs to be sorted out?” Vic says, as if his question hadn’t been rhetorical. But she continues with, “Hiking? Stamp-collecting? Model-building?”

“Yeah, and you can get me the ‘Life Begins at 60’ t-shirt and all, while you’re at it,” Robert says. _Stamp-collecting_. “I still don’t see why I need a hobby.”

“Because spending all day every day propping up the bar isn’t really a valid lifestyle choice.” She glances over at the opposite end of the bar and lowers her voice. “Keep on like this and I’m pretty sure Chas’ll start doing more than just spitting in your drinks.”

Robert stares at her. “Hang on – Chas’s been gobbing in my drinks?”

“No,” Vic says. Then, “Well, probably not. I’m just _sayin’,_ you’re not really helping things by” –

“Existing?” He lowers his voice as the woman in question squeezes past Victoria, exiting out the back – like an Arctic blast. “Yeah – I’m really the one adding fire to this feud. Maybe she’s the one you need to tackle about getting a hobby – ever think of that?”

Vic rolls her eyes. “ _Anyway_ , it’s not like you not to have, you know, a project. I feel like you could do with something to keep you busy. Out of trouble,” she adds, as if she just can’t help herself.

“It’s not like I’m going to scribble on the walls with crayon the second your back’s turned,” Robert says. “I’m not five years old – I _am_ capable of entertaining myself.”

“Yeah – and that’s what worries me,” Victoria says, eyes flicking over to the door as someone enters. She straightens. “Why don’t you” – she begins, only to be interrupted by Marlon sticking his head round the bar, and saying, “Oi, Victoria – are you coming? You were due back ten minutes ago, and the lunches aren’t going to make themselves, are they?”

“There in a sec,” Victoria says. She turns back to Robert. “Look, just – think about it, all right?”

Robert makes a noise Victoria can take for agreement if she wants, attention drifting five barstools over, where Aaron Livesy’s just leaned up against the counter.

“Seriously,” she says, determined to drive the point home. “It can be anything at all. It’s not like it has to be stamp collecting.”

This catches Aaron’s ears, and he flicks a glance over. “Stamp collecting?”

“Victoria thinks I need a hobby,” Robert tells him, and maybe this whole stupid fixation of Victoria’s has got a point after all.

Aaron absorbs this. “Right. Mystery-solving not working out for you, then?”

“Mystery-solving?” Vic asks, eyes darting between the pair of them.

“Oh yeah,” Aaron says. “Did your brother not tell you?”

Robert narrows his eyes at Aaron – the last thing he needs is to set Vic off about last night again.

But Aaron, with the same kind of consideration he’s displayed thus far toward Robert, continues. “He seems well into it, too. Mind you, it’s a bit more Scooby Doo than Sherlock Holmes at the moment.”

“Right,” Vic says. There’s a line between her eyebrows. “Well, not to knock ‘mystery-solving’ or anything, but” – 

“ _Victoria!”_

“We’ll talk about this later,” she says to Robert. She closes her eyes and sighs, before turning and calling, “You bellowed, Marlon?” as she disappears back to the kitchens.

“Thanks for that,” Robert says. 

“So you’ve not told her about me tryin’ to steal her husband then?” Aaron says.

Robert takes a moment to appreciate that this is one of their longer sustained interactions – and initiated by Aaron, for a change. Apparently accusing Aaron of attempted homewrecking – is something of an icebreaker. 

May as well take advantage of it, he decides, and says, “If you want to have a proper go at me, you might as well sit down.” Or starts to say, because like a sort of fun-killing genie, Chas pops back in to the bar, with a loud, “Aaron, love! What are you doing here?”

Aaron stares at her and she tacks on a, “Not that it’s not - _great_ to see you. But…shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’m taking a break, aren’t I?” he says.

“Right – so…you want a drink?” 

“Unless you’ve got some objection.”

“What? No. No – objection,” she says. Her eyes catch Robert’s, and she looks away with a grimace that she quickly turns into a smile. “Tell you what, why don’t you sit down – over there” – she points out the table furthest away from Robert’s corner, “- and I’ll bring it over to you.”

She makes scooting motions at him with her hands, but Aaron stands there long enough that Robert thinks he might not comply. From the tension in Chas’ body, it’s clear she’s thinking the same thing. Finally though, with a minute head shake, face set, he does.

Chas lets out a breath and turns, digging in her pocket. Robert swivels a bit on his stool, but Aaron pulls out a chair and doesn’t look up. And then, a few seconds later, his phone rings. He answers it with a flick of his thumb and says, “Yeah, what?”

A second of silence. 

“What – right now? You just said”-

He’s already getting to his feet. “All right, all right – I’m on my way.” He hangs up and calls to Chas, “Yeah, scratch that, actually – I’ve got to go.”

“Oh?” Chas says. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Nah – Cain just called. Needs a hand with something. I’ll see you later.” He doesn’t acknowledge Robert.

“See you later, love,” Chas calls back, as Aaron leaves and she – slips her own phone back into her pocket. 

Robert frowns. Takes in the fact that Chas hasn’t even put out a glass for Aaron, never mind started to fill it. He taps his fingers against the counter, muses out loud, “Funny – Aaron getting that call just then.”

Chas gives him a hard smile. “Really? Lucky, I’d have said myself.”

*****

“I’ve got it,” Vic says later, as she hands him a yellow pepper to slice. “Andy.”

“Andy,” Robert repeats.

“Yeah – it’s perfect. You want a friend, Andy needs one… _he_ can be your project while you’re here.” She holds out her hands in a ‘ta-dah’ gesture. 

“Andy doesn’t need a friend, he needs a punching bag,” Robert points out, as he picks up a knife and gets to work. “And I’m not volunteering this time.”

“I’m not saying you go from zero to best mates just like _that_ ,” Vic says. “It’s a process. You just have to be willing to put a bit of work in. How about…the two of you try to have one conversation a day, without it turning into an argument. Or a fist-fight. How does that sound?”

“Ambitious,” Robert says.

Still, during a tense, slightly burnt dinner (Adam not having shown up at the appointed time, and not bothered to text either), Robert finds himself looking at Andy across the table (somehow managing to chew combatively) and saying, “So…the weather’s been good lately.”

It’s almost worth it for the confused look on Andy’s face. 

When Adam finally does show up, just as they’re finishing, Vic says, “So – it turns out that cooking times aren’t really suggestions. More like – exact rules you’ve got to follow if you don’t want everything to go all black and horrible.”

“Sorry, babe,” Adam says, bending down to kiss her on the temple. “I’d’ve texted, except I didn’t have time. This client called me – he was supposed to be meeting with Aaron, only Aaron forgot, didn’t he? I got an earful, and then I had to get over there to try and sort it out, prove we weren’t taking the mick.”

Vic turns in her seat. “Aaron forgot he had a meeting?”

“Yeah. Suppose it was bound to happen eventually, what with everything going on.”

“What d’you mean?” Robert asks.

Adam looks at him, shrugs. “Just – what with him double-jobbing it at the moment. You know, at the garage.”

“Aaron’s working at the garage as well?” Robert says. “Business isn’t that bad, is it? I wouldn’t have thought you were that hard up.”

“We’re not. But with Debbie gone” – Andy stills and Adam finishes awkwardly, “Just…Cain’s a bit short-handed at the moment, isn’t he?”

Vic makes a ‘shut up’ face at Adam, but it’s clearly already too late, as Andy gets to his feet, and walks out of the room.

“What was that about?” Robert says.

“Debbie. Leaving. She went a few weeks ago – long story, don’t ask – and she took the kids with her. Which…hasn’t exactly helped with the whole Andy situation. I mean, if Jack and Sarah were here, well…it’d give him something else to focus on, wouldn’t it?” Vic blows out a breath, catches Robert’s eye and warns, _“Don’t_ ask him about it – seriously, just stick to conversations about the weather for now.”

Robert holds up his hands. “Yeah, no need to worry about that.”

Still, he turns all this new information over in his head appraisingly. Vic did say she wanted him to have a _project._

*****

And so, the next time Aaron heads to the bar, Robert opens with, “Just the person I was hoping to see.”

Aaron blinks, but barely misses a beat as he says, “Why – you cracked another case? Finally figured out who shot JFK, have you?”

“Suppose I asked for that one,” Robert says. Apparently, the charge Aaron gets out of needling him hasn’t entirely worn off.

“Suppose you did,” Aaron agrees. He moves past Robert’s table to lean against the bar, obviously signalling that the conversation is over.

“I hear you’re working in the garage these days,” Robert says, not letting it go so easily. He feels a little thrill of triumph when Aaron looks over his shoulder at him.

“So? What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. Just…I’m in the market for a new motor,” Robert says. “Interested?”

Aaron casts a glance behind the bar, but turns around fully. “You – want me to find you a car?”

Robert shrugs. “It’s sort of a pet project. Vic and Adam seemed to think you were the person to ask.”

Aaron looks at him, assessing. “And they actually told you that, did they? Actually said, ‘You should go and ask Aaron about that’?”

“All right! Maybe they didn’t say it outright – it was more implied,” Robert says – though he doesn’t know what the big deal is. “The point still stands. I’m looking for a car…you’re in the business of finding people cars. What do you say?”

He’s got Aaron’s attention, and as propositions go, it’s not exactly rocket science. Sourcing a vehicle for Robert, who’s got both the cash and taste level to really go all out – well…it’s got to be a dream come true for anyone with even a passing interest in cars.

But before Aaron can answer – and he should start setting his watch by this – Chas soars in from the back, eyes immediately zeroing in on them. 

“ _Aaron_! What are you doing here? I thought you were working at the garage today.”

“I was. And now I’m having my lunch. If that’s all right.”

“Of course. Of course. Actually,” she says, exchanging a glance with the familiar, heavyset man she's brought with her (bald now, though, which is new). “That’s perfect, because Paddy wanted to ask you something. Didn’t you, Paddy?”

“I did? I did!” Paddy Kirk says gamely. “Aaron, I, er, was wondering whether you might…em…give me your opinion on – on…” he rummages through the bag he’s carrying as he walks around the bar and finally pulls out a piece of paper, brandishing it aloft in triumph, “on this.”

Aaron holds out his hand for the sheet, and scans it. “You really want my opinion on,” he reads, “ _A survey of castration methods: getting the best result for farm and calf_?”

“I – I suppose it would be more of a layman’s take on the situation,” Paddy concedes, as Aaron hands the paper back, unimpressed. 

“Jack of all trades these days, aren’t you?” Robert says from his seat. 

Paddy folds the paper away, while Chas mutters, “Ask _me_ about castration, Paddy – because I’m developing some really strong opinions on it.”

“So – about my offer,” Robert says, impatient to get back to the matter at hand.

“What offer?” Chas cuts in immediately. “What’s he talking about?”

Enough is enough, and Robert says, “Funny – I don’t remember asking _you_ about it.”

“Oi!” Chas says. “Keep talking and I’ll show you exactly” –

“Chas,” Paddy cautions, reaching over the bar to lay a hand on her arm, which she angrily shrugs off. “ _No_ , Paddy – I’m tired of _him_ swanning around like he’s Lord Muck. It’s about time someone showed him what’s what. And since no-one else is stepping up to do it, it looks like it’s down to me to” –

Robert gets to his feet. “To do what? Throw me dirty looks and make more little comments? All right – have at it.”

“Oh, you’ve got no _idea_ what I could do to you,” Chas says. “And I _will_ , if you don’t leave my son alone” –

“All right – that’s enough!” Aaron says loudly, silencing her. “You know what – forget it,” he says, pushing back from the counter. “I’m _sick_ of this. He’s right – it’s none of your business.”

Chas opens her mouth, but Aaron says, forcefully, “ _No_ – it’s not. And you can’t _make it_ your business, either, so just – keep your nose out, all right?”

He looks at Robert. “As for you,” he enunciates slowly and clearly, “ _not interested_. Got that?” He swings around to Paddy and Chas again. “Happy now?”

Then he wheels off, out of the bar, not even pausing at Chas’ call of, “Aaron!”

There’s a slight buzz of conversation after he leaves – apparently, they’ve been providing lunchtime entertainment for the locals. Chas seems oblivious, batting Paddy away and staring Robert down. “I am warning you,” she says.

Robert shakes his head. “You know – I think your son’s got the right idea,” he says, and heads for the door.

*****

“Well, you like to live dangerously and no mistake,” Diane says, when she hears. “Maybe next time – just don’t, all right?”

“Don’t _what_?” Robert says.

“I don’t know, pet. Take your pick.”

“Do you just – not have that little voice inside that tells you ‘This is a bad idea’?” Victoria asks him. “Do you just not _have_ that? Because that would explain _so much_.”

“He works in a garage. I didn’t realise that asking him about _cars_ was a reason for his mother to go off and start making death threats against me.”

“She wasn’t making _death_ threats,” Victoria says, then admits, “Mind you, I’m not saying she didn’t go a bit overboard” –

“Thanks,” Robert mutters.

“ _But_ – come on, you know she doesn’t like you, and you have to realise that you’re just making things worse. Are you winding her up on purpose?” She looks at him. “Is it really that hard to just – stay out of Aaron’s way?”

“What? No – of course not,” Robert says. “I just thought it’d be easier on you if we got on, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, it’s obviously _not,_ so I’m asking you to leave him alone. Got it?”

She holds his gaze until he says, “Got it.”

*****

“So, about this car you’re going to find me,” Robert says, standing next to Aaron’s table. It’s Chas’ day off – he’s checked – and Adam’s just gone to the toilets.

Aaron glances up at him. “It’s like you just can’t help yourself.” He shakes his head. “What part of ‘not interested’ are you having problems with?”

“How about the part where you don’t _look_ stupid,” Robert says. At Aaron’s expression he says, “I’ve got the brass to pay out for top of the range, high end, the lot. And you’re – what? – just going to say no to that? Something doesn’t add up.” 

Aaron shrugs. “Got enough on my plate. There’s a garage in Hotten – Silverton Autos. You can always try there, if you want.”

Robert considers it. Puts his hands on the table and leans in. Says, in a low voice, “I’m thinking something classic. Powerful. Fast.” He holds Aaron’s eyes. “Let me know when you change your mind.”

*****

The morning’s been all right – he and Andy have graduated from the weather to horoscopes, and Robert reads, “The Full Moon this weekend may find you wanting to focus completely on work, but don’t let that blind you to how great things are at home.” At Andy’s look, he says, “I’m not making this up – that’s really what it says.”

Andy ducks his face into his mug of tea and mumbles, “Yeah, right.” 

“You’ve gotta watch out for that Full Moon,” Victoria says. “Apparently, love will surround me _but_ I also need to find a way to lower my expenses. What about you, Rob?”

“My personal preferences loom large during the Full Moon – whatever that means,” he says. He won’t deny that it’s a bit less awkward to interact with Andy when the paper’s acting as a barrier. The area around his mouth is still bruised, but it’s fading fast.

Andy gets to his feet. A bit awkward, he says, “Yeah, well, right now, my personal preferences are telling me to go to work, so…”

“You see – it’s starting already,” Victoria says with mock-disappointment. Then, after he leaves, she taps Robert on the arm. “You’re making progress,” she says. “Keep this up and you might be ready to move on to local news next week.”

“I can’t wait,” Robert says flatly. 

It happens out of the blue, later in the day, when he’s walking past the garage and Cain Dingle calls out to him, “Hey!”

Robert turns. “Yeah?”

Cain gestures with his head to come closer, and when Robert does, he says, “A little birdie tells me you’re on the lookout for a new car. So - what sort of thing are you looking for?”

“I don’t really have time to get into it right now,” Robert says. “Besides – I’d rather talk to Aaron about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

He turns to leave, and abruptly, Cain's hand shoots out, grabbing Robert’s arm and twisting it behind his back. “What the hell are you doing?!” Robert demands, but Cain says calmly, as he jerks Robert’s arm up higher, and frogmarches him inside the garage, “Well, that’s the thing. It’s _not_ all the same to me.”

He pushes Robert away from him then.

“What’s going on? What d’you think you’re playing at?” Robert says, looking around the garage. They seem to be the only ones there.

“I just thought it was time we had a little chat. Since you don’t seem to be getting the message,” Cain says. 

“What message?” Robert says, though he’s got his suspicions.

“You know – I _knew_ you were going to say that.” Cain moves to stand in front of Robert. “So, I’m going to spell it out for you, nice and slow, so there’s no mistake.” He holds Robert’s eyes and says, “Stay. Away. From. Our. Aaron. You got that?”

“Loud and clear,” Robert tells him, dismissive. “Can I go now? Are you done? Friendly warning over?” He’s made inquiries about a car from a mechanic. How intimidated does Cain Dingle expect him to be – he’s not actually _done_ anything. He makes to move past, but Cain puts out an arm, blocking him.

“The thing is – I don’t believe you,” he says. “And – I never said this was going to be a _friendly_ warning, did I?”

He moves so quickly, Robert doesn’t have time to prepare. He doubles over, suddenly breathless from the force of the blow to his gut. 

“You getting the message now?” Cain asks.

Robert can only nod – but that nets him a smack to his healing jaw, then what will almost certainly be an impressive bruise on the other side of his face.

“I can’t hear you,” Cain says, and Robert manages to wheeze out, “Got it, okay?”

“That might be enough for some people,” Cain muses. “But, see, I’m the sort who likes to hammer a point home.”

Robert flails out wildly, attempting to make contact, but Cain just shoves him backwards, and he falls across the bonnet of a car. “Watch it – don’t want to damage the bodywork,” Cain says. “Now – where were we” –

“Cain? You there?” Robert closes his eyes. It’s Aaron’s voice. 

“Thought I told you to go for lunch,” Cain calls back.

“Yeah but I think I left my phone” –

Aaron stops as he enters, and takes in the picture before his eyes. His eyes dart between Cain and Robert. “What’s going on?”

“Phone’s over there,” Cain says, gesturing. “And why don’t you make it an extra-long lunch break, eh?”

Robert lurches off the car, still winded, but sensing an opportunity for freedom. Cain easily presses him back. “Hey – I don’t remember saying you could do that,” he says, and tuts.

Aaron gets between them. “What are you _doing_? He’s not done anything to you.”

“He doesn’t have to. That’s not why he's here.”

Aaron stares at him. “Tell me this isn’t because of me.” Without waiting for Cain to confirm it, he says, “Let him go.”

“Remind me,” says Cain, quiet, but deadly. “When did we decide that I took orders from you? Because I must have missed that conversation.”

“I don’t believe this,” Aaron tells him, not backing down. “I really don’t. Haven’t you got enough trouble already, without going looking for more?”

Something in Cain’s face shifts, and Aaron says, slowly, “You have, haven’t you? Which means you’re not the one who” – he breaks off, shaking his head. “Right,” he says, in a different tone of voice. “Right.” He takes hold of Robert’s arm. “ _This_ is done. Right here, right now. Over. _Finished_. You hear me?”

He holds Cain’s gaze for a long moment, and the tension stretches out until finally, Cain breaks it, shrugs, suddenly disinterested. “If you want to make a fool of yourself, go ahead. No skin off my nose. I only got involved as a favour anyway.”

“Yeah – don’t remind me,” Aaron says, and tugs on Robert’s arm, pulling him past Cain and out of the garage.

Outside, Robert stops, takes a few deep breaths. The ache in his gut is loosening. “Thanks,” he manages.

“Whatever. Don’t mention it,” Aaron says, before turning and marching off.

“Hey,” Robert does his best to follow, given the fact that his body feels like one big bruise right now. “Where are you going?”

Aaron turns around. “Go home, Robert.”

“Yeah, think I might deserve an explanation first, don’t you?” 

Aaron ignores him and keeps walking, but Robert manages to put on enough speed to almost catch up with him, following him in the door of The Woolpack, right into the bar, where Chas’ greeting dies on her lips at the expression on Aaron’s face. Well, that solves the whole ‘favour’ business Cain was talking about.

“Out back – _now_ ,” Aaron says. He doesn’t wait for her, just strides through. Robert follows after them, taking advantage of the general confusion, pushing past Bernice as she squawks, "Robert? What happened to _you_?!" This only lasts until he makes his way into the sitting room. Chas starts at the sight of him, but recovers admirably, and demands, “What’s _he_ doing here?”

“Why?” Aaron asks. “Was he not meant to be able to _walk_ afterwards, or something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

“Really? Because it’s written all over your face.”

Chas bites her lip. Says, “All right – we can talk about it. But he has to leave.”

“Uh, considering _he_ nearly got his face beaten off, I think he’ll be staying right here, thanks very much,” Robert says.

Chas spares a withering glance for him. “You don’t look that badly off to me.”

“Yeah, well, much as I hate to admit it, he’s got a point,” Aaron says, folding his arms across his chest. “You asked _Cain_ to beat him up.”

Chas closes her eyes for a moment. Opens them. “It wasn’t like that. I just – wanted Cain to scare him off, that’s all. Nothing – nothing more than that, I swear.”

“Right, because this is _nothing_ ,” Robert says. His face is throbbing. Both Chas and Aaron ignore him.

“I only did it because he wouldn’t get the message! He just would _not_ leave you alone” –

“Yeah, well, that’s _his_ problem,” Aaron says, gesturing at Robert, like he’s a piece of furniture. “Not _yours_. Not seeing how any of this has _anything_ to do with you, actually.”

Chas looks at him. “And then I started wondering,” she says, quite slowly, “if maybe there was a _reason_ he wasn’t getting it.”

The room goes very quiet as Aaron stares at her. Robert wonders what the hell is going on. “So you’re saying this is my fault?”

“No!” she says. “No, I didn’t mean” –

“So because I’ve not bashed his face in yet, it must mean that I’m – what? – _asking_ for this? That I secretly want it – is that it?”

“Secretly want _what_?” Robert feels the need to interject. This has all got a bit _full on_ , even considering that a casual acquaintance's mother just arranged to have him beaten up. “I was only asking about a _car_.” 

“Aaron, _Aaron_ , listen to me, I am _not_ saying that. I just, thought it would be easier – for everyone – if we could...get past this. I thought if he wasn’t in your face all the time, then – then you wouldn’t need to deal with it. That’s all. I was only tryin' to protect you.”

"Yeah, well how about next time, you try _trusting_ me. For a change."

"I do. I _do_. Really. It's _him_ I've got the problem with."

Yeah, Robert thinks he _got_ that memo. Practically stapled to his face.

“I was handling it,” Aaron tells her, practically spitting the words. “Just because you don’t like how I was going about it, doesn’t mean you get to go behind my _back_.”

He stares her down until she slumps her shoulders and says, “All right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” It sounds less genuine and more like an attempt to placate Aaron. “I won’t - do it again.”

“Oh, that’s big of you,” Robert says. In spite of the penitence she’s showing Aaron, she finds enough time to throw a dirty look his way. 

“Yeah - that’s right. You won’t,” Aaron tells her. It sounds like a warning, or a threat, but all the same, Robert is disconcerted when Aaron turns and says, “Come on.”

“Hang on – that’s _it_?” he says. 

“What more d’you want?”

“Er – I don’t know, seeing as I’ve not been beaten up by someone’s relative before. I’m just saying, that seemed a bit lacking.”

Aaron shrugs. “Let me buy you a drink then. Make up for it.” He turns at Chas’ indrawn breath and asks, “ _What_? You got anything to say about this?”

She presses her lips together, clearly fighting back the army of words that wants to come out.

“Good,” he says, and gestures Robert back out. 

Robert pauses just before the entrance to the pub, reaches out and puts a hand on Aaron’s arm, halting him too. Aaron turns back and raises his shoulders at him in inquiry.

“So,” he says. “Is this a genuine offer – or are you only doing it to stick it to your mum?”

Aaron’s face is unreadable. “Does it matter?”

Robert considers it. Meets Aaron’s eyes. “Not really. I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

Aaron looks at him for a long moment, then turns around without answering him. Robert follows him out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How was he supposed to land on his feet if he never stopped falling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD, this chapter totally kicked my ass. Like seriously. I mean, in my notes it was all ‘Robert starts to unravel as memories continue to be erased’ and I sort of had a vague feeling that writing the memories would get more confusing and chaotic. Except confusing and chaotic is…maybe not the best thing to aim for when you’re writing? IDK. 
> 
> Also...I am really worried this now counts as songfic, even though I just thought it would be amusing to have Robert and Aaron have a Moment while Boy George played incongruously in the background. Snippets excerpted and paraphrased from _I Love 1982_.

He stood in The Woolpack sitting-room-cum-kitchen, and said, “Me and Chrissie. We’ve decided to give it another go.”

How exactly they’d come to that decision (or really, how Chrissie’d been nudged into it) – well, that was more of a ‘need-to-know’ thing. And Chas Dingle definitely didn’t need to know. He took a bit of satisfaction in the way her voice and presence faded out of the scene, even as she got some digs in about the sad, pathetic drunk he’d made (he looked down, avoiding Aaron’s eyes at that), and reminded him to leave his keys.

“All worked out for you then, eh?” Aaron said, when it was just the two of them again.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I suppose you could say that.” Because it was true. He’d managed to hit the ground and land on his feet again – and if…if he felt jarred from the impact, well, that was all it was. “No hard feelings?”

Aaron scoffed, like he had the first time Robert had said it, but folded his arms and said, “You really hadn’t done this before, had ya? Seriously – _no hard feelings_? It’s not like you beat me at soccer.”

“I don’t know,” Robert said. “I just thought” –

He’d _thought_ it seemed impossible, that he would walk out of The Woolpack, and back into his real life, and that would be _it_. The end of everything between him and Aaron. He didn’t see how it would work. It had to, he supposed, but. 

He couldn’t quite believe it. 

He settled for saying, “– with Adam and Vic…your mum and Diane…it’s not like we were never going to see each other again. No harm in being civil, at least.”

“Yeah. Cos we were really going to be exchanging cards at Christmas,” Aaron said. He looked down. “What I said before – that still stands, by the way. You’re only putting off the inevitable with Chrissie, and when the next guy comes along” –

“There isn’t going to _be_ a ‘next guy’,” Robert said. 

Aaron regarded him. “Yeah there is. Of course there is. Probably sooner rather than later, since you won’t even have _this_ ,” he gestured between them, a typical Aaron movement – minimal but meaningful, “-to remind you of what a bad idea it is.”

It hit again, that weird realisation that soon, Robert wouldn’t know him. He couldn’t take it in, not really, not with Aaron stood right in front of him, so he pushed the idea aside.

Instead he said, “Are you jealous? Wondering who’s gonna take your place?” It was the same way he’d both wanted Aaron to feel bitter about him going back to Chrissie – and not, at the same time. Bad feeling was at least _feeling_ , even if it wasn’t close to what he’d really wanted. 

“Oh yeah. Because he’s in for a treat, lucky fella.”

“You know, I managed just fine before I met you,” Robert told him. He wasn’t sure how much he meant it to hurt. “So you really don’t need to worry about it.”

Aaron nodded slowly. Considering. “Take it that means you’re gonna erase the blokes that matter, then?”

He stared, wordless. No-one was ever going to matter like this again. _Aaron_ hadn’t even been meant to matter like this, and Robert wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Finally, he managed, “It’s not going to be a problem.”

“Yeah…cos you’ve got Chrissie, right? Reckon _that’s_ built to last forever – considering how you could barely keep it zipped from day one.”

“I’ve made my choice,” Robert said. “And you know what? So did _you_ – so you can drop the attitude any time.”

Aaron frowned at him. “What are you talking ab” –

Robert held out a hand, palm up, indicating the sofa, where suddenly, without having moved at all, Aaron sat. A different day. A different memory. He took a sip from the mostly-full pint that was now on the coffee table, while Robert said –

“Let me give you a clue then. Me and Chrissie? We’re over. You got what you always wanted.”

“Oh. Right. This,” Aaron said. He didn’t sound any more enthused about it the second time around.

“Yeah. This,” Robert said as he looked at Aaron and felt it – the defeated _relief_ that came from knowing that there was no going back with Chrissie. That the decision had been _made_ – even if it hadn’t been by him. He couldn’t even keep up the initial snap of frustration with Aaron. Instead, Robert dropped into the chair nearest to him – admitted that, yeah, Aaron had tried to help. His heart thumped once in his chest, and he said –

“Let me pay you back.” The offer tingled in his mouth. He felt in the pocket of his suit jacket for the cheque. “You wanted it to be just me and you. _That_ makes it possible.”

Aaron looked down at the cheque. Up at him. And all right, it was just a blank, folded up piece of paper in this memory…but then again, it wasn’t like they were actually going to use it, was it?

“We can go anywhere,” Robert told him. “So what d’you reckon? You up for it?”

In the telling silence that followed, he got to his feet, moved to sit next to Aaron on the sofa. “Yeah, well – can’t say I didn’t ask.” His hand stretched out against the cushions as he sat, brushing against Aaron’s leg. 

Aaron turned to face him. “No. If you really wanted me to go, you’d have done it.” He leaned further into Robert’s space, reminded him, “Why don’t you go in that bar, buy us both a drink. And then, when you’re in there – tell them all exactly what you are.” He moved back, took another swallow of his pint, loud in the quiet. Flicked a glance at Robert. “Take your time. No need to rush.”

Robert looked away. Twisted the band on his finger. “Look – I wish…maybe part of me wishes it could’ve gone like that, all right? It’s a nice thought. But it was never gonna happen – come on, Aaron, you have to _know_ that. This is real life, not some stupid romantic comedy.”

“Never said it was,” Aaron said. “Not like I was holdin’ my breath over here.”

“I’m just saying – we could’ve been gone. _You’re_ the one that said no. Not me.”

Aaron nodded, like he agreed, but said, “Had better things to do than play hide-and-seek for the rest of me natural.” He tossed in an offhand, “Sorry,” like punctuation.

“It wouldn’t have _been_ ” – Robert pressed his lips together. “You know what? Fine. Your loss,” he said. 

Aaron shifted back, thigh brushing against Robert’s wrist as he did.

“What d’you think it would have been like?” he found himself saying. “London. Manchester.”

Aaron shrugged. “Don’t know. Never really thought about it.”

By now, the only thing left of the room was the sofa where the two of them sat. Robert closed his eyes. “Yeah. Me neither.”

*****

Chrissie dropped the lighter, and inside the barn he recoiled in instinctive fear. He didn’t think anything as it happened, he didn’t think anything about it until long afterwards…and even then, he only got as far as – _did Mum…?_ before he forced himself to stop – pushed it into some dark dusty corner of his mind and tried never to look.

“I don’t want it,” he said in the here and now (or the memory of it, at least), but grabbed for the cheque as it fell, because he couldn’t be left with _nothing_. 

And from one of the sheds – the outside of which had been wallpapered exactly like the entranceway to Home Farm, oddly enough – Lawrence poked his head out and shook it. “You actually convinced me that you weren’t after our money.”

Robert looked over Chrissie’s shoulder, toward the fence, where, against all laws of God and planning permission, The Woolpack kitchen was set up. Aaron flicked through the paper desultorily, refusing to lift his eyes, Chas glowered at him, and Diane called out, “I hope she takes you back!”

She nodded encouragingly in Chrissie’s direction as Robert blinked at her. 

“I, um” – he began, turning back to Chrissie, even as his eyes started drifting again toward the kitchen plonked down on the grass. He’d been knocked off-balance before, what with the mention of Aaron and-and Katie. But now…now he had no _idea_ what to say. Not that he got the chance, since Chrissie spoke over him. “There he is! That’s the Robert I know. Greedy and selfish. That is _never_ gonna change.”

She stormed off, and with a last, disconcerted glance over his shoulder (Lawrence brandished the solicitor’s letter at him this time), he strode to the now-deserted kitchen. His head was suddenly aching, and he sank down into a chair just in time for Aaron to enter.

“Oh n – just no, let’s not do this now. My head’s banging, and me moving out, it’s not happening.” A thought struck him through the remembrance of a truly spectacular hangover, and he added, “Where does that door even _go_ , anyway?”

Aaron squinted at the un-Woolpack nature of the surroundings and said, “You having a stroke or summat? This shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, thanks – think I’d managed to work that one out for myself. It’s just – how the mind operates. ‘General weirdness’, the technician said.”

“Right,” Aaron said. “That a medical term then – ‘general weirdness’?”

“Look, as I remember it, this was a pretty relentlessly shitty week – no wonder I’ve not been able to keep it all straight in my head.” Robert rubbed his temples. “You’re not helping, by the way.”

“Really? Because I’ve just been to see Chrissie. Told her how cut up you’ve been. Missing her. Generally actin’ like a girl.”

“Well, that’s a bit sexist,” he said, before getting down to the nitty-gritty of what exactly Aaron’d told Chrissie, for the second time.

“I should go round there,” he said, afterwards.

Distaste thick in his voice, Aaron said, “No – you should sober up and get some sleep.”

“Yeah. Try and act like the guy she actually fell for – not some pathetic loser,” he agreed.

“Save that all for me, do you?” Aaron stuck his hands in his pockets. 

And Robert supposed (as he began to castigate an old man for having had a heart attack during the raid that he had organised), that there was no point denying it. Objectively, he could tell that he wasn’t putting on a very impressive showing – but he just couldn’t bring himself to care about appearances. Instead, with a kind of monstrous honesty that was only partly hangover-inspired, he laid out all the ugly, unpleasant parts of himself in front of Aaron – and not even for the first time. He didn’t even pause. It wasn’t anything Aaron didn’t already know, after all. It wasn’t like it was important, or anything. 

So what if he acted like a mirror most of the time, reflecting back what other people wanted to see? He was _good_ at it, and he almost never got tired. Just. Honesty was just – nice, sometimes, for a change. No big deal.

He frowned as movement caught the corner of his eye, then turned in the chair to find Rakesh Kotecha seated across the kitchen table from him, leafing through his paperwork. God - this was just _relentless_. “So that’s it?” he asked. “I lose everything – my job, my house, everything I’ve worked for?”

“The agreement should include how your assets will” –

“I don’t just mean the money. This is my _life_. My family. She won’t even let me see Lachlan.”

While Aaron rooted in the fridge, Rakesh said, “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to insert-name-here, our family lawyer. She can set the ball rolling and go through it in more detail with you.”

Having Aaron there, swigging orange juice from the carton, made it difficult to say, “I just – I want my marriage to work,” but he mumbled the words anyway.

Aaron put the carton down to say, “Be a bit more convincing if you weren’t saying it to a lawyer.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Robert said, then frowned as the room seemed to slosh and twist around him. He was still sitting…except actually he wasn’t – he was outside, sliding down a rough stone wall. He held up the bottle in his hand. Well. That explained that, then.

“Come on,” Aaron said, appearing out of nowhere to prop Robert up, an arm around his back.

“I’m all right,” Robert said, possibly too loud. The words came out all mashed together.

“Yeah, you look it. Come on.”

“Let’s have a drink,” Robert decided, and it felt bold and reckless and completely inevitable all at the same time. “Just me and you – screw what the world thinks, eh?”

It was a relief to have his whole world boil down so clearly to one impulse – even if it was because the alcohol had killed off all his higher thought processes. 

It felt like a sluggish kind of clarity – back on The Woolpack sofa, he tipped forward to press his mouth against Aaron’s (well, _mostly_ against Aaron’s – since the alcohol had killed off his finer motor functions too). Falling back into Aaron’s orbit felt natural, undeniable, a force like gravity. 

“No,” Aaron said, breaking the kiss.

Robert slumped back.

*****

“Just go and talk to her – at least you two get another chance,” Andy said, and Robert told Chrissie, “It’s killing me, being without you.”

(Chrissie had almost immediately demanded that he stay away from her for the eight months and three weeks that had to pass before they could file for divorce)

“Just – don’t give up. Ride this out, and it’ll pass,” Diane assured him, and he found himself in The Woolpack kitchen, saying to Aaron, “You can only ignore me for so long.”

(Aaron _had_ stopped ignoring him…but only to definitively shift their relationship status from ‘it’s complicated’ to ‘it’s not complicated at all, actually, so stay the fuck away from me’)

And in-between (as Aaron tried to pack him off to share a houseboat with an easygoing hipster. Weird), he asked, “Can we just go somewhere and talk?”

“No, I’ve told you, there’s nothing more to say.”

“Not – then…I mean now,” he said.

“Like I said – nothing more to say,” Aaron said.

*****

It felt like falling – falling and falling and bracing for an impact that never came. Which maybe sounded all right, but in reality…in reality, Robert was like a cat, spine twisting and turning in midair, trying fruitlessly to minimise the damage.

But how was he supposed to land on his feet if he never stopped falling?

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Lawrence said. There was some design on his mug, but Robert couldn’t make it out. Through the frosted glass window behind his father-in-law, he could see the outline of a tractor, blurry and blue. 

He tensed. What had Chrissie told him? “Well I still work here, don’t I?” 

He’d helped _build_ this business, worked for it, made himself essential to Lawrence. Whatever else he’d done – well, he’d done _that_ , too. He belonged here – it shouldn’t ever have been a question. 

Lawrence just looked at him. Made no promises.

Well, when in doubt… “How’s Lachlan?” he asked.

Lawrence aimed a last suspicious look at him and turned his back, and as if summoned by his name, Chrissie hijacked the memory, rewound it back to – “Using my son as leverage? Dad was right about you – you’re a nasty piece of work.”

More by-the-numbers confrontation, all leading to –

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying – pack a bag. Take your stuff and _get out_.”

Sinking down into a chair caused a vertiginous whirl that ended with him sitting in The Woolpack kitchen (now somehow _merged_ with the Home Farm kitchen), being sympathised with by Diane, who held a handful of limes like she was going to launch into a juggling act any minute.

And speaking of juggling acts – Aaron shuffled in on his crutch just as Diane bustled off. He looked around at the discrepant décor – the jumble of clashing chairs, the two styles of wallpaper garishly overlapping each other. The Woolpack cabinet full of knick-knacks and mementoes barred the Home Farm exit toward the stairs. 

“General weirdness?” Aaron asked.

“General weirdness,” he agreed.

There was a silence, which Aaron broke. “So she has binned you then?”

Robert took a breath, blew it out. “Do we have to do this now?” At Aaron’s expression, he said, “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s what comes next – before… _whatever_. We both _know_ what happens here – you wind me up, I take it out on you” –

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Yeah, well, if I’d known _this_ was what was gonna make you call the whole thing off, I wouldn’t have said it, would I?”

“Wouldn’t you? _If you think this clears the way for me and you, you’re dreaming. It’s just a blip – every marriage has them_?” Aaron reminded him. “Doesn’t leave much room for misinterpretation.”

Robert stared up at the ceiling in frustration. “Can we just – skip it, this time? Please.”

Aaron shifted on his crutch. “You’d think it’d be easier, the second time around.” He didn’t sound combative though.

“Yeah, well, you’d be wrong.” Flipping through confrontation after confrontation with no break in between was like being kicked in the ribs over and over again. He really didn’t want to pile the final straw onto the camel’s back that was Aaron’s patience with the situation. Even if that wasn’t going to change anything.

“So – what should we talk about instead?” Aaron asked, as the silence stretched out again.

It should have felt somewhat like a victory, Aaron conceding, but it actually almost felt worse. 

“I don’t know,” Robert had to admit. They stared at each other, and this whole thing – it was like watching something dying. Knowing there was nothing he could do, and yet having to see it through anyway.

“ _Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?_ ”

They both jerked at the slightly muffled sound of singing. Aaron looked around. “What”-

“I think I lost my virginity to _Do You Really Want to Hurt Me_ ,” said another slightly deadened voice, and laughed.

“ _Do you really want_ ” – And yet another voice spoke as the song continued, “We realised of course that not only was this a very good commercial record…obviously we were very excited at the prospect that when people saw George that would be another part of the equation…”

“ _We Love the 80s_ ,” Robert realised. “Obviously _they’ve_ ,” he flicked his eyes toward the ceiling, “discovered the TV in my hotel room.” He shook his head. “This is unbelievable. Nice to know you can perform an incredibly complex procedure on someone with one eye on the telly.”

Aaron shrugged. “You get what you pay for.”

“In that case, I’ve been ripped off.”

It was a moment of camaraderie, in a sea of unending conflict. The smile on Aaron’s face faded slowly as he looked at Robert. “I’m not gonna say you’re right – but I can sort of see it, you know.”

“What?” Robert asked, caught by his quiet tone.

“This. Just, seeing it laid out…it makes you realise – what was it all for?”

He tried to keep the mood light, tone joking – they’d only just found this fragile affinity, and he didn’t want to lose it so soon. “Er – what d’you think affairs are based on?” 

Their eyes met and Robert knew that they were on the same x-rated page. He and Aaron could practically have been used as propaganda to support adultery – because despite all the limitations of time and circumstance, the sex was consistently all kinds of heavy-breathing, leg-shaking, eye-sweatingly fantastic.

“Well, that was all right, as it went,” Aaron conceded.

Robert stared at him. “All _right_?” In spite of the fact that Aaron had a gift for understatement, this was ridiculous. “I like to think it was a bit better than _all right_.”

“Yeah. As it went,” Aaron repeated, almost impatient. “I’m just sayin’, for the amount of time and effort that went into arranging it – it’d want to be the best you’d ever had.”

Robert continued to stare at him. “And you’re saying it _wasn’t_?”

“You’re saying it _was_?” Aaron looked equally confused. 

He crossed his arms. “You seemed happy enough to keep it going at the time.”

“I was the one who broke it off, too,” Aaron reminded him. 

“Yeah,” Robert said. The word was heavy in his mouth.

Aaron frowned. “Hang on – you’re not getting shirty about that, are you? Not after,” he raised his eyebrows, recited flatly, “ _You’re nothing to me. And if you…if you do anything, anything at all to jeopardise my marriage – it’ll be the last thing you ever do._ ”

He fixed his eyes on Robert. “I might be stupid enough to get involved with you, but I’ve not got _Welcome_ written across here,” he gestured across the hoodie-covered expanse of his chest. “So don’t go thinkin’ you can walk all over me.”

“I’m sorry,” Robert said, because he was – that first time the ‘oh shit’ of regret had kicked in even before the sound of Aaron’s uneven footsteps had faded from the room, but by then it had been, as it always was, too late. “It just – I don’t know – felt like everything was falling apart, and I took it out on you. I didn’t – I don’t think that.”

“Still said it, though,” Aaron pointed out.

He couldn’t explain it, not really – that instinctive, cornered-animal urge he had to lash out, to press the self-destruct button. Or that the downside of usually knowing exactly what to say…was that you also knew, with unerring accuracy, the things you should never ever say.

Instead he got to his feet, edged into Aaron’s space. Told him, again, quietly, “I _am_ sorry.” And then, holding Aaron’s eyes, Robert moved forward, cupped his jaw and kissed the apology, soft and warm, into his mouth. This was better. This was how it should have gone.

Aaron pulled away, but slowly. “Don’t.”

“I mean it – let me make” – _it up to you._ The end of that familiar phrase died in his throat.

“Yeah. Not this time, eh?” Aaron said, with a rueful almost-smile. His eyes roamed Robert’s face. “I’m not saying it wasn’t good, you know – _really_ good,” he said suddenly. “That’s not what I meant.” Robert’s hands were still touching his face, and it was the easiest thing in the world to lean in again. 

Aaron turned his face to the side, but Robert was undeterred, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, under his ear. “See? It’s good,” he breathed in between kisses, even though Aaron had already admitted it. But there was no denying it now, he could feel the intensity between them, building even when they were touching slow and unhurried like this. “Always good.”

_The best._

“Except we hardly saw each other, so it’s not like we even had that, in the end.”

Robert moved a step back. It felt like being doused with cold water. “Well, you know how to kill a mood.” He frowned. Was Aaron making digs about his stamina? “And it’s not like I wasn’t up for it – you know what things were like at home” –

“I’m just _sayin_ ’,” Aaron continued, dogged. He sighed. “Maybe I’m coming around to your way of thinking.”

Robert just looked at him. Distantly, he heard, “ _If it’s love you want from me, then take it away_.”

“Suppose there wasn’t all that much left to regret, when you think about it,” Aaron said.

(“It’s just a really good song, isn’t it?” Faint Voice enthused, over the sound of Boy George’s career being dissected by various nobodies.

“Mmm,” he heard the technician say. “Prefer _Karma Chameleon_ myself though. Or what’s that other one he sang…you know” –)

“No,” Robert agreed. “Suppose not.” It was only when his jaw began to ache that he realised he was clenching it.

Aaron reached out and placed his free hand on his chest – but that was only to push Robert back enough that he could limp past, out of the room.

(“You _do_ know it – it goes,” and the technician sang tunelessly, “‘ _Looking from a window above, it’s like a story of love_ ’ – _that_ one.”

“Oh yeah – I like that one too. Don’t think it’s one of Boy George’s though…let me look it up…”)

The mish-mash of surroundings started to grey out around him, and Robert dropped his head, gritted his teeth and let one more piece of his life fade away to the sound of _fucking_ Culture Club.

*****

His phone chimed with an incoming text. He looked at the screen. _Get home. I know what you did._

He looked up – and there he was. Home. The office – facing Chrissie across the desk. The surroundings were darker than he remembered, though a harsh spotlight shone directly into his face. Appropriate.

“I searched through everything in here,” she said, and it all kicked off. Again. Even though it felt like it had never stopped.

It had been easy once. 

“What could I possibly have to _gain_ by terrorizing you and putting your dad in hospital?”

There had been a time when it hadn’t felt like he was clinging on to his own life by his fingernails. “I would never – I could _never_ do anything to harm anyone in this house!”

They’d been happy, even. He _knew_ that. He just – couldn’t remember it now, when their life together felt like one long circular argument. 

“ _Admit it_ ,” she said, and he didn’t know if he’d been this tired the first time round – but he was now.

“Chrissie” –

“If you love me – you’ll admit it,” she said, tearful, but unswayed. Determined. He’d known then – he wasn’t getting out of this. 

He’d swallowed. Let go. Said it. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay…it’s true.”

People were always banging on about honesty in relationships, weren’t they? Well – now he’d done it. Been honest. 

And, _honestly_ , it felt more like a defeat than anything else. Like finally throwing in the towel. 

“Chrissie, please – just listen” – he even sounded half-hearted to his own ears. Wrung out, dried up. Numb.

“What kind of person can _lie_ like that? What kind of person can just carry on as if it was normal?”

Yeah. The truth, like mercury, was apparently toxic to his relationship with Chrissie. He raised his hands out to the sides, palms up. Let them drop - exhausted, exasperated. “ _Me_ , obviously” –

“And if you can lie like _that_ ,” she slapped at his shoulders, pushed him back a step, “– what else are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” he said. This was what he wanted. He knew it. He loved Chrissie. 

He just. Couldn’t remember it anymore. 

“Nothing,” he said again. It was a tiny snap – like the give of a thread. He closed his eyes. “Oh, except that I’ve been having an affair with Aaron. Livesy. Mechanic. Scrap yard. Been going on for months, actually.” He opened his eyes. “Think you’re about up to speed now. Happy?”

It was empty bravado that made him say it out loud – he only did it because it wasn’t going to matter. But in the split second before she answered - half-terrified, and half-defiant, Robert _wanted_ it to.

Chrissie threw her hands up, and parroted, “You know what – I don’t want to hear it!”

“Yeah. Thought not,” he said. His voice scraped his throat on the way up. It was stupid. He only thought he wanted it because there was no danger of it. And – it was better that way. Of course it was.

“I don’t know who the _hell_ you are. You are _not_ the man that I married.”

He grabbed for her arm as she left – missed. Chased after her. “Yeah, except we both know _that’s a lie_ – isn’t it, Chrissie?! You know – since you’re so keen on the _truth_ , all of a sudden. And the truth is – the truth _is_ …I am _exactly_ the man you married!”

The door banged shut. 

He stood there. Listened to himself breathe in the sudden silence, and tried not to think about anything. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, he leaned his back against the door, slid down onto the floor, and covered his face with his hands.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So your family just – go around beating up random people who remind them of your ex?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be neat and logical to have present day stuff in present tense, and flashbacks in the past tense. Until halfway through this instalment when I realised I needed to go back and change the tense of every single verb I had used so far :)
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has read, kudosed, commented...I'm still kind of amazed anyone other than me has the patience to stick with this thing :)

Having Aaron sitting beside him and sharing a drink – a solid, if silent presence – is satisfaction enough that it takes a full five minutes for Robert to note, “You know, there’s this thing called ‘conversation’ – maybe you’ve heard of it – that people generally like to have along with their drinks.”

Aaron throws a side-eye at him, and takes a long swallow. Continues to say nothing.

“No skin off my nose – I’m just saying, I’d have thought you’d make a bit more of an effort.”

“Why?” he asks. “I promised you a pint, not free entertainment.” He gestures at Robert’s still mostly-full drink like an unshowy ‘voila’.

Robert leans in a bit closer. Bernice is staring at them, but that’s all right. He wants to brag, to draw attention to the fact that Aaron Livesy’s sitting next to him of his own volition, and he’s glad when Chas Dingle walks out behind the bar again. He basks in her baleful glare, and even raises his glass in a toast (she looks away). Tells Aaron, “Yeah, I hate to break it to you, but considering your mum tried to have my face smashed in, a free drink’s not going to cut it.”

Aaron shakes his head. “Right. Should’ve known. What d’you want?”

“An explanation, for starters,” Robert says. It’s a bit rich that _Aaron’s_ acting put-upon, when Robert’s the one nursing a colony of undeserved bruises.

“Look, it’s got nothing to do with you, really,” Aaron says.

Robert waits, but apparently, that’s it. “Yeah. My face just kept getting in the way of Cain Dingle’s fists.” He takes another sip of his drink and advises Aaron, “Try again.”

“They’re just trying to look out for me. I don’t agree with it, but” –

“Look out for you? By doing _what_?” Robert makes a face, then regrets it – registering incredulity is painful right now. “Stopping people from saying _hello_ to you? Asking you for car advice? Bit of a weird hang-up for a mechanic to have.”

Aaron looks at him disdainfully. “Don’t be thick.”

“Then stop beating around the bush and tell me the truth.”

“All right,” Aaron goes very still. Stares at him. “You want to know the real reason?”

It’s unnerving, actually, the way Aaron’s looking at him. Robert plays it off, casual. “What else am I sat here for? It’s not your sparkling conversation, that’s for sure.”

“Fine. You asked for it,” Aaron says, but then he drums his fingers on the table like he’s lost the bottle to come out with it. It’s only as Robert’s preparing to verbally poke him that he says, “The last bloke I – my ex – he was a bit of a nutter.”

“Yeah?” Robert asks, trying to be nonchalant, trying not to move even. Aaron’s so – closed up, folded in on himself, that to have him suddenly confiding in Robert about boyfriends…it feels weirdly, intensely personal. 

“Yeah. A real psycho, actually,” Aaron tells him, aiming an odd, understated – relish - his way that makes Robert blink.

Robert bites back the part of him that wants to comment that he’d probably have fit in perfectly with the rest of Aaron’s family then, and instead says, “Sorry to hear it, but not really seeing what that’s got to do with me getting smacked around.”

Aaron casts his eyes at the ceiling, gives the barest shake of his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Look like him, don’t you.”

Robert stares at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Evidently, Aaron is fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds – his words bristle with pre-emptive defensiveness. 

Robert tries to take it in. “So your family just – go around beating up random people who remind them of your ex?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

It’s not like Robert has anything approaching high expectations for the Dingle clan, but this is a bit much, even for them. “Y’do know how messed up that is?” 

Aaron considers this. Offers, “Well – you _do_ look a lot like him,” like it’s an excuse. 

“So that makes it _all right_ to use my face as target practice?” Robert tries to make sense of it. Aaron has – _had_ – a boyfriend who looks like Robert. Aaron had a boyfriend who looks _so much_ like Robert that his family feels the need to beat Robert into jam filling for the crime of simply resembling him. It’s weird. It’s bizarre. 

It’s _interesting_.

Aaron shrugs, then throws back the rest of his pint and gets to his feet. 

“Hang on – where are you going?”

“You’ve had your explanation – and your drink,” Aaron tells him. “I think we’re done here.”

He can almost feel the palpable relief oozing from behind the bar. Robert grabs his wrist. “Not so fast.”

“What?” Aaron deliberately drops his eyes to where Robert’s got a hold of him – a clear message that Robert ignores. He can feel the small movements of Aaron’s fingers as he tenses. For one odd second it makes Robert think of holding hands, but he doesn’t loosen his grasp.

“You really think that’s a fair trade off? Considering what your relatives just put me through?” Robert uses the index finger of his free hand to point at his face.

“I don’t know,” Aaron says. “But then…I really don’t care, either, so” –

Oh no. This – this is _leverage_ , and Robert’s not giving it up that easily. 

“I could call the police,” he says in a low voice. “Have Cain up on charges of assault and battery. They’d probably be interested in speaking to your mum too, given that she organised it.”

Robert finally releases his wrist. Leans back and enjoys the heady sensation of being the focus of Aaron’s attention.

Aaron regards him for a moment or two before affecting a confused look. “You all right mate?”

“What?” Robert says.

“Andy been having a go again?” He cocks his head to the side, indicates Robert’s bruises. “That’s what happened last time, isn’t it? The two of you’d really want to start taking it easy. Before someone gets _hurt_.”

He raises his eyebrows like ‘your move,’ and Robert supposes it’s not a shock that someone Dingle-adjacent is prepared to bend the truth. Luckily, Robert himself is no stranger to twisting things to fit his own needs.

“Is that what we’re doing now? Coming up with stories?” he asks. “Because we can put it to the test – see whose version the _police_ believe. That’s fine with me.” He takes another sip of his pint, making sure to wince as the glass touches off his sore lip. “Or…you agree to find me a car, and I forget this whole thing ever happened. Up to you.”

Aaron stares at him. “Are you for real?”

“It’s a legitimate offer, if that’s what you mean. But…if you’re not interested…I can’t imagine a decent upstanding citizen like Cain Dingle’d be too fussed about having a chat with the local law enforcement.”

He watches the play of emotion across Aaron’s face – the pull of his mouth, the lines of his eyebrows. Economical, Robert thinks, that’s the word for it. 

He can’t see how Aaron could possibly answer any other way…but he’s not adverse to giving him that last push. “Or maybe you need to ask your mum’s permission first?” he says. He nods over at Chas Dingle, who looks like she’s on the verge of booking lip-reading lessons. “She’s right over there – if you want to clear it with her. I can wait.”

“Fine,” Aaron grits out.

“You’ll do it?”

He shrugs, and Robert fixes his eyes on the table, fights the twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he says. “Good. Listen – why don’t I get the next round in, and then I can tell you the type of thing I’m looking for.”

He waits for Aaron to sit back down, but instead he says, “Nah. I need to get back to work.” 

He levels one of those even, unreadable looks at Robert, and adds, “Besides – I’ve already got a pretty good idea what you’re after.”

*****

“Oh my God!” Victoria says. Her hand flies to her mouth and she rises from the table.

Robert tries for a smile – it’s not a reassuring sight, if the widening of her eyes is anything to go by. “It’s all right, I swear – it looks worse than it” –

Victoria ignores him, still speaking with that mixture of horrified sympathy. “What did you _do_?”

The reassurance freezes on his lips. “What?”

“Whatever you said – or did – it must’ve been _awful_. Just look at you!” She touches her fingers off the bump above his eye, and they both wince. “Was this Andy? Have you two been talking about current events or something? How many times’ve I told you – keep it _light_ , he’s not ready for all that yet!”

“Right – are you done victim-blaming now?” Robert says. “Because if you are, I can tell you that Andy isn’t responsible for this.”

Victoria’s whole body slumps. “Well, that’s a relief.” She tenses right up again though. “Go on – who was it then? Who’ve you been winding up this time?”

“Because clearly, a conversation with me is all it takes to send people over the edge.”

Victoria fixes him with a look. “ _Rob_.”

He’s considered it all afternoon, so he knows what he’s going to say. Still, it flickers across his mind – the truth would certainly get Vic and Diane onside when it comes to Chas. Knock her right off her perch. He can’t say it’s not tempting. 

“I fell down the stairs, all right?”

“The _stairs_?” she repeats.

“Yeah. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. The stairs won, obviously.”

Vic regards him with narrow eyes. “I’ll say they did. It’s almost like they grew hands so they could take a proper swing at you.” She makes as if to touch the swollen skin by his eye again, but Robert flinches away. “Seriously, Robert – what really happened?”

“I’ve just told you – I missed my footing and fell. Stairs one, Robert zero. I don’t see why you’re having such a hard time believing it.”

“Er – maybe because you’re spouting the kind of excuses that come straight out of _Women Who Love Too Much_?”

Robert shifts on his feet, annoyed, and grimaces at the throb of pain that causes to go through his side.

Vic looks him over, gets a hand under his elbow. “Does it hurt?”

“Well, I definitely don’t recommend it as a way to travel,” he says, allowing himself to be led to a seat.

Victoria roots around in the freezer and comes back with a packet of peas, which she wraps in a teatowel and hands to him. “Mind you – I don’t think anything’s going to stop that shiner from coming up…but maybe this’ll help.”

“I already put some ice on it earlier,” Robert says, but he raises the makeshift ice-pack to his face all the same. 

Vic watches him. Touches his shoulder. “Rob,” she says, “I know you don’t want to tell me, but – do I need to worry?”

“What are you talki” – she raises her eyebrows at him, and he grinds to an awkward halt. “No,” he says instead. “I promise. Everything’s all right. Really.”

She smiles an ‘I’m-not-entirely-reassured-but-I-want-to-trust-you’ smile. It maybe says a lot that Robert can categorise it so quickly.

*****

“Blimey, what happened to you?” Andy says, when he comes in late. He’s obviously taken aback to see Robert wearing new, non-fraternal bruises, because this is a departure from their usual horoscope-and-Buzzfeed-based conversations.

“He fell down the stairs,” Victoria says. She can’t seem to help herself from adding, “Apparently.”

“Yeah,” Adam says, without taking his eyes off the telly, and flaps his hand in Robert’s direction. “But now he’s giving peas a chance, in’t he?”

“Except we replaced the frozen peas with baby carrots ages ago…so that’s not as funny as you think it is, babe. If it ever was, really,” Victoria tells him.

“You fell down the _stairs_?” Andy asks Robert, with a disbelieving frown.

“ _Yes_ – I fell down the stairs. Why does no-one believe me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Experience?” Andy says, with a bit more edge than usual.

“Maybe we should change the subject?” Victoria says, and gestures to the television. “Ooh look – a cold front’s moving in.” 

“Yeah – don’t need an expert to tell us that,” Adam mutters.

“Why don’t you sit down, Andy,” Vic says. “We’re all gonna watch” –

“Thanks, but – I’m a bit tired tonight. Might go and have a lie down.”

“What? But it’s not even eight yet,” Vic says.

“Sorry,” Andy tells her, but doesn’t even pause. They all listen to the thump of his footsteps on the stairs and Adam says to Robert, “See – that’s how you do it, mate. One step at a time.”

Robert only makes it half-way through the show before he decides he’d rather have an early night too (he just can’t take all this nailbiting about appropriate sponge texture and fruit dispersal in madeira cakes), and at the next commercial break he makes his way, a bit stiffly, to his bedroom. Getting ready for bed is a bit of a procedure, and he finally lowers himself with a grunt onto the mattress. He glares at the door when he hears a knock two minutes later.

He gingerly heaves himself upright again, and goes to answer it. Andy stands there and says a bit awkwardly, “I heard you moving about. And, well, I came across this, and I thought it might be of some use, so…”

He thrusts out a small white tube of Arnica cream. Robert just stares at it for a second, long enough that Andy starts to draw back his hand and say, “If you don’t want it” –

“No, no, it’s uh – thanks,” he says. “Really.”

“Like I said, I just came across it,” Andy says, downplaying it as he drops it into Robert’s palm. He turns to leave, but then hesitates and turns back. “Maybe next time, whatever it was you said to ‘the stairs’…well, you might want to keep it to yourself, eh? Just some advice.”

The way he says it, it’s not a warning, but not teasing either – it lies clumsily, uncertainly somewhere between the two. In response, Robert finds his mouth pulling into grudging acknowledgment.

*****

He thinks about it, lying in bed in that relaxed state between sleeping and waking. He breathes in the smell of Arnica and different facets of the day pivot and turn in his mind, clicking and sliding together into new combinations, like the coloured pieces on a Rubik’s cube.

Horoscopes, and Cain Dingle’s fists, Aaron striding toward The Woolpack, Andy handing him the tube of Arnica cream, Chas Dingle insisting that a beating was the only way to get through to Robert, the feel of Aaron’s wrist under his hand, Victoria’s fingers on his face, Aaron agreeing to find him a car…

Aaron. 

Aaron – who’s got an ex who looks like Robert.

The thought is like a tiny electric wire, alerting his mind and sending a buzz of wakefulness through Robert’s body. Making him open his eyes and stare up at the ceiling. 

It’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s honest. It’s been there from the first, enough so that when Vic let it slip that Aaron was gay, Robert was finally able to peg that _awareness_ – the tension between them – for what it was. 

_Possibility_. 

He’s good at picking up cues – at reading the signs, even when those signs are scribbled out and pointing in all the wrong directions. And whenever he and Aaron share the same space, the air is loaded and heavy, makes it feel like someone’s run a finger down the back of Robert’s neck. Senseless vendetta – yeah, maybe on the surface. But Robert knows exactly what lies underneath that.

Sex. Not a foregone conclusion by any means – but a tantalising possibility that pulsates between them. 

How far Robert wants it to play out…well, he hasn’t decided that yet. Sometimes he finds that the suggestion of sex is all that he needs – a bit of an ego boost, a harmless way to liven up a dull day…and it’s got the bonus of plausible deniability built right into it – yeah, he’s married, but flirting’s not _cheating_.

On the other hand, flirting’s not _sex_ either, and given the opportunity for _more_ – well, Robert’s never been the kind of person to turn that down. And here – it’s not like Chrissie’s ever going to _know_. It’s not like she would even suspect – hang around with a Carly Hope, and yeah, her eyebrows would raise…but spending time with a sullen, gruff mechanic – that’s another story. One where Chrissie would never think of reading between the lines. 

He frowns as he tries to remember the last time he and Chrissie had had sex…and can’t. Literally can’t remember. They’ve always had a healthy sex life (and Robert has high standards when it comes to this stuff) – so it’s disconcerting not to be able to put his finger on what should’ve been a fairly recent occurrence. He can’t even remember any big ‘withholding of sex’ fights.

Uneasily he dismisses it, tells himself that it’s no wonder he’s so keyed up by this thing with Aaron. He feels like he’s starving for it, after all. Because even abstractly laying the pieces out – him, Aaron, sex…makes warmth coil lazily through his body, makes him slide a hand down to cup between his legs. Not touching with intent, not just yet – but enjoying the build, the anticipation. 

It could happen. Aaron and him, spending time together, searching for Robert’s car. They’ve already got motive…this gives them the opportunity to indulge it. He’s pushed for it, he can admit that – pushed them into the kind of circumstances where it’s very easy to imagine sex just…coming up. The idea sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through him. Of course, he admits to himself as he rubs the heel of his hand against his cock…sex with Aaron _might_ be more trouble than it’s worth. 

But then again, as he begins to stroke himself in earnest – and a picture of Aaron flashes through his mind (guarded, wary Aaron, panting and red-mouthed, arching underneath someone who looks a lot like Robert, control completely gone) – he can imagine it might be _worth_ the trouble, too. His breath starts to come faster and he speeds up the motion of his hand. 

Definitely worth thinking about, anyway.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Must be nice – getting rid of me _and_ any guilt you might feel about Katie at the same time. Package deal, was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like I'm writing reams of rubbish when I write the memoryscape bits. Which is actually kind of therapeutic to write...but probably not to read! I feel like I might need to come back to this one once I've got a bit of distance...tighten it up a bit.

The watch was heavy on his wrist – like it weighed as much as it cost. Heavy and perfect, proof – a reminder of who Robert was, that his place was right here, next to Chrissie. It helped him pull himself back together, kept the swirling panic pushed so far down he could barely feel it. Everything was going to be okay. He just had to stick it out until morning, keep everything as light as he could with Aaron – and everything would work out. Just like it was supposed to. 

And then came Donny, pulling out a chair to Robert’s birthday celebration and saying, “Hey, looks like I timed it perfectly.”

He was wearing the navy dressing gown he’d padded around in at Home Farm, revealing a deep v of skin from neck to navel. Robert took a quick look around the table, but no-one else in the pub seemed bothered. Another trick of the mind, then.

“Good of you to dress up for the occasion,” Robert muttered, then, louder, “That depends on your perspective.”

Lawrence leapt in to chastise, “Now, now – we’re all family.”

“Some more than others,” Lachlan muttered. 

“Nice to know actually _being here_ counts for nothing with you,” Robert shot across the table. All right, Donny was the kid’s real dad, and Lachlan didn’t have the whole story – but he had enough to figure out the guy wasn’t exactly a candidate for Father of the Year. Then, to Lawrence, “Can see where he gets it from, mind.” 

Because somehow, if _Robert_ had been the ex, he didn’t think Lawrence would play the ‘family’ card and encourage him to pull up a chair. Call it a hunch.

And of course, because Donny’d never met a moment he didn’t like to ruin, he started talking about Scotland, and Lachlan’s imminent move. As the argument began anew, Robert tipped his head back and emptied his glass of champagne. After a second’s consideration, he grabbed Chrissie’s glass as well and took a swig. He’d be damned if he went through this again without the benefit of alcohol. 

He glanced at his wrist, like he’d done all day when he’d got it, only to find the Rolex gone. He felt a sharp pang at its loss, as he instinctively got to his feet. Though he did take a moment to finish Chrissie’s champagne, and swipe Lawrence’s glass with a, “You don’t mind, do you?” before making his way across the pub –

\- to the scrapyard, smooth floor giving way to the crunch of gravel under his feet.

“I come bearing gifts,” he called, and when Aaron turned around, he held up Lawrence’s glass of champagne, which was still miraculously in his hand. “Thought it might make all this,” he gestured between them, “a bit easier.”

Aaron made no move to take it and Robert shrugged. “Fine. More for me, then.” He tipped the glass back, let the champagne fizz its way down his throat. 

“So you’ve got time for me now, have you?” Aaron said, stubbornly sticking with the script. 

Robert sighed. “Look Aaron, I know I’ve been an idiot – and I’m sorry. Things are awful at home, if it’s any consolation.”

There was a reason Robert had never had a full-blown affair before – and this, this was it. On paper, it should have been all secret hookups and snatched moments of passion – a sexy outlet for dealing with the inevitable frustrations of any long-term, committed relationship. Like golf – only actually fun.

But, in practice, this affair had turned out to be a violent see-saw of trying to keep Chrissie happy and Aaron on board. Except he hadn’t even been swinging from high to low, but from low to even lower low at this particular point in his life.

“Cos of this Donny,” Aaron said, and Robert found himself rolling his eyes, stepping closer. “Do we really have to talk about him right now?” It gave him a kind of cold itch in his chest – he could feel the memories slipping away, like sand through his fingers. _Keep it light_ , he reminded himself. Keep it light, and everything was going to be fine. 

Aaron spread his green-gloved hands slightly, “Considering how quick you buggered off once I told you he was in trouble, I’d say yeah, we do.”

“Well then, maybe you should tell me something else this time. Keep my interest,” Robert said, angling even closer. He let the empty champagne glass in his right hand drop – it didn’t make a sound.

Aaron gave him a flat look. “You _are_ joking, aren’t you?”

“Come on,” Robert said, reaching out to touch Aaron’s hip. Affairs were supposed to be _this_ , weren’t they? Light on the ‘you don’t have enough time for me’ and ‘let’s discuss your wife’s ex’ talks, and heavy on the illicit thrills in scrapyards. Well – that last one they could easily sort, he thought, idly stroking his thumb against the orange of Aaron’s safety vest.

Aaron folded his arms across his chest and recited stolidly, “Has he sorted his money problems out?”

*****

“I was you once, remember? Before she got a taste for toyboys,” Donny told him – and as if to prove his point, Chrissie showed up to kiss him on the cheek. He stood like a wedge between Robert and Chrissie – and Chrissie didn’t even acknowledge him.

Robert paused, because Donny was still flashing his sternum in that flipping dressing gown, like a desperate actress at an award ceremony. He waved a hand at the less than intriguing triangle of exposed flesh. “Seriously – do you expect her to just rip it off you or something? It’s not that impressive, mate. Maybe in comparison to _Lawrence_ , but…I’ve seen better.” He leaned in closer to Donny’s blank face and confided, “ _Had_ better, too.”

And with that Robert chased after Chrissie, following her into the kitchen and later in the day, as she prepared a tray for Donny and fretted about his ‘attack.’

“They’ve really gone to town on him,” she said, lines drawn between her eyebrows.

“Oh, so they gave him a good going over, did they?”

She threw a look and a, “You don’t have to sound so pleased,” his way before taking the tray, and her sympathy, off to Donny’s room. Robert shook his head, felt the shape of his keys in his pocket. 

The roads and landmarks were a featureless blur that only sharpened into something resembling reality when he caught sight of Aaron, balancing on crutches and making his painstaking way along the street. 

He slowed up alongside him, rolled down the window. 

“Get in,” he said, before Aaron had a chance to open his mouth and launch into yet another re-run. 

Aaron kept facing forward, making limping progress. “Think you’re supposed to start by asking if I want some sweets – you know, _before_ you try and talk me into the car.”

“Right, noted. Now if you’re done criticising my kidnapping technique – get in.”

Aaron stopped. “No.” He turned back and took a few more crutch-aided steps. 

“What’s your problem?” Robert pressed down a little on the accelerator, pulling up alongside him again. 

Aaron made an exasperated sound. “You know, being stood up’s boring enough as it is. Being stood up while I’m on crutches…somehow, even worse.”

Robert made a face. “Don’t say it like that – it sounds bad.”

Aaron aimed a flat, disbelieving look at him. “Is there a way of saying it where it sounds good?”

“It’s not like I _wanted_ to,” Robert told him. “Look – if you’d just get in the car, we could” –

Aaron didn’t even pause.

“Fine – if you want to rehash old arguments…I’m sorry about last night, all right? I couldn’t get out of it.” God, seriously – this was just like being married, twice over. 

“Still could’ve sent a text.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t help adding, “Though... _‘sorry, my wife’s ex is hanging around and using their son’s recent conviction for sex crimes as a way to get into her good graces and push me out – so I can’t make tonight. Rain check?’_ – that’s not a message, it’s a mini-series. By the time I texted all that I think I’d’ve kept you waiting anyway.”

Aaron barely looked at him, said, unmoved, “Always something innit?”

“Oh come on” –

“We done?” he asked. “Only – I am on crutches and I don’t much fancy doing this for the rest of the day.” He jerked his head to the right, toward the café. As slow as he was going, they’d already passed it before. But now they were passing it again. Robert frowned. It never completely stopped being weird.

“No, we’re not done. In fact – why not just go through the whole thing again? Since it’s not like you want to hear anything different.” And Robert lapsed with bad grace back into a patch of original dialogue, “It’s that prat Donny” –

“Thought we weren’t talking about him,” Aaron said.

“– he’s playing games,” Robert finished with a glare, because _whose_ fault was it that he had to resort to Donny as a topic of conversation, again?

“I still don’t know what you expected me to do about any of that,” Aaron said, then held out his right hand, the better to show off the crutch attached to it.

“I didn’t expect you to _do_ anything,” Robert said. “Like I _said_ – I just thought you might be interested.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“What?”

“Why should I be interested?”

_Because you’re interested in me_, Robert didn’t say. _Because you’re supposed to listen to me. You’re supposed to care about my problems_. He’d always known they were more trouble than they were worth…but surely affairs weren’t supposed to be like _this_ either – feeling that the only person you could be completely honest with…was the same person you had to stand up in order to be there for your wife. 

“Like I said, it’s nothing to do with me,” Aaron said, and brought the conversation to an end as he limped in front of Robert’s car – only to stop and lean up against a clapped out white van that had appeared in the middle of the road. He pulled a face, then made a quick, annoyed ‘come here’ gesture at Robert.

Robert turned off the car, pulled the keys out of the ignition and followed him, Main Street dizzyingly rearranging itself into the scrapyard as he did. He shoved his hands in his pockets, moved in next to Aaron, once again orange safety-vested. Waited until he couldn’t anymore, then pointed out –

“You know, if I’m remembering this right – we weren’t just…stood around for this.”

Aaron shook his head slightly – let out a long breath. “Fine. Go on then.”

Which, it wasn’t the most enthusiastic endorsement he’d ever had, but – he wasn’t going to quibble. Not now. He let his hands out of his pockets, took hold of Aaron’s face, and kissed him. It had been nice, as he remembered, if a bit abstracted. A familiar comfort, while he’d had half his mind on other things. 

This time though, he was aware of the shuffling scuff of their feet on the gravel and the scratch of Aaron’s beard against his palm. He contrasted that with how smooth the bare back of Aaron’s neck felt against his fingers. He filed it all away, even though he knew it was useless, that he wouldn’t remember it anyway – but that wasn’t a reason to stop, not with Aaron’s mouth soft and warm against his. 

So he _didn’t_ stop. He ignored his watch and kept going until Aaron’s hand pushed at his chest – and even then he only eased back the barest fraction.

“Fairly sure we had an actual conversation at this point,” Aaron informed him.

“Fine,” Robert said, but he didn’t move any further away. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Aaron’s. “Chrissie thinks I’ve got a meeting.”

“What you doing?” Aaron went to pull back – but Robert hooked a hand around the back of his head, leaving them at a stalemate. 

“Nothing. Your turn.”

He could feel Aaron’s frown against his own forehead, but he didn’t pull away again. “So you’ve met me and you’ve not had a go at me” – Robert opened his eyes and kissed him, quick – nothing showy, nothing big. Still satisfying in some odd way. “-that’s rare these days – seriously _what_ are you doing?”

“You’re the one who insisted on having the conversation,” Robert said, already leaning in again.

Aaron stepped back and looked at him, eyes unreadable. Then the tension in his body eased, shoulders slumping. “Suppose it’s not going to make any difference now,” he agreed.

And he was right, because Robert pressed him against the side of the van, and repeated the rest of his dialogue – Donny and managing him, the possibility of wangling a whole night away with Aaron, arranging to meet at half six – in between brief kisses that kept him steady…

…but as soon as he walked around the van, and into Home Farm office, faced with Chrissie’s unconcerned reaction to his planned absence, and the worrying potential hint of _something_ when she mentioned Donny-the-Good-Dad (even the way she _held_ herself when she talked about him) – it _didn’t_ make any difference.

It wouldn’t have anyway, he told himself as he scrapped his plans with Aaron in favour of playing Robert-the-Good-Husband. They never told you that about marriage, either – you’d think something hardy and robust enough to last until death-us-do-part would just _work_ , most of the time. Like a new and expensive car. But instead, it felt like unless Robert was there, physically _forcing_ all the parts to keep moving, the whole thing was in constant danger of sputtering to a stop. 

“What about your meeting?” Chrissie asked – and as if to prove how futile it all was, Robert found himself saying, “It was just a night away with Aaron. Drinks, dinner, probably sex.” He considered it. “Definitely sex. But you’re more important than any of that.”

“Aww,” Chrissie said, sounding improbably touched by his words as she slid her arms around his neck. 

He kissed her, pressed her against the desk – and it _still_ made sense. Had _always_ made sense.

Aaron. Or Chrissie. It wasn’t a choice, hadn’t _ever_ been a choice. It especially wasn’t a choice now, when everything had already happened and there was no changing any of it. 

Even if it still felt like one.

*****

He walked past Donny and Chrissie, talking by the sink. Donny was still half-unwrapped in that dressing gown – but he _had_ actually been wearing it the first time around, so Robert gave him a grudging pass for now. Even if the sight of it raised a rash of uneasy, invisible goosebumps up his arms - not so much due to Donny, as Chrissie – who was fully dressed, but didn’t seem at all aware of the disparity between her and her ex. She seemed comfortable, like this was an everyday occurrence. Like Donny belonged there, in Home Farm.

“See you later,” Robert said, adding in an undertone, “…hopefully when you’ve figured out how _clothes_ work.” He slowly made his way outside, still looking back as he shut the door behind him, and his phone beeped. He checked it – then tucked it back into his pocket. He jumped when he looked up, because there was Aaron, standing right in front of him. _J’accuse_ on crutches. 

“Lost your phone or summat? It’s just when I text you I’d appreciate a text back,” he said.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve got stuff to deal with at home,” he said with a jerk of his head at the door. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Keep it light. “There’s a reason they call it a double life, you know. Double the work keeping everyone happy.”

Aaron scoffed. “So – what? You’re cheating on Chrissie to demonstrate your work ethic or something?”

“That’s not what I” –

“D’you think Lawrence might offer you a raise or something?” he continued, merciless. “Yeah. That Robert – he’s so driven.”

“I’m just saying – keeping this going is work, is all!” he snapped as he gestured between them.

“Right.” Aaron’s face went stiff. “I’ll get out of your way then. Not that I’ll be taking up too much of your time from now on anyway.” He began to turn on his crutches.

Robert felt his stomach drop, and caught his arm. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Aaron looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m just on edge. Chrissie’s moved her ex in to help deal with Lachlan.” He could feel his mouth twisting as he forced out a sour-tasting laugh. “Should save some time and just replace me with Donny. I don’t think anyone’d skip a beat.”

He’d spent so much time and effort working his way into the family, securing his position – only to find it wasn’t secure at all, but in constant flux. And now _this_ , the disquieting realisation that he could be replaced with the click of a finger. That – in a way, _he_ was the replacement. 

Yeah. It really hadn’t been his week. 

He bent his head, forced Aaron to meet his eyes, until he said, grudgingly, “All right. You can let go of me now.”

“All right? I spill my guts and that’s it?” It was a bit underwhelming, even for Aaron.

Aaron shrugged. “Not really the person you should be talking to about this, am I? Just overtime, me.”

He said it matter-of-factly, but Robert took it as an accusation.

“Aaron” – he began, but against his will, he found himself drawn to the closed door, free hand reaching out behind him to grip the handle, even as his fingers tightened on Aaron’s arm, twisting in the loose fabric of his hoodie. 

“Looks like you’re needed,” Aaron said, and tugged himself free. He nodded at the door. “Go on then. What you waiting for?”

Robert closed his eyes. Against his will, he found his fingers pushing down the handle, slow but inexorable, and just like that – he was inside again, where Donny aimed his exposed chest at all and sundry and said -

“What d’you say to me sticking around for a wee bit, eh?”

“Yeah. Nice one,” Lachlan agreed.

Robert leaned his back against the door. Absently he pressed on the doorhandle he was still gripping, but it didn’t open. He recited hollowly, “My auntie runs a B&B in the village. I’ll run you down.” Aaron was probably gone, anyway.

Of course, Lawrence did what he did best, and butted in to offer his unwanted opinion. “It seems daft him checking in there – he could stay here. Couldn’t he, Chrissie?”

“Glad to see deadbeat dads are welcome here, when my brother the grieving widower isn’t.” Robert shook his head. Realised, “Nothing I say or do is _ever_ going to be enough for you, is it? You sanctimonious, tight-fisted old prick.”

He should have been angry – but all he could work up was a bewildered kind of dispassion at the lack of _anything_ the realisation inspired in him. The last thing he saw as Home Farm began to blur and fade was Lawrence beaming as Chrissie agreed that Donny staying probably worked out better for Lachlan. 

*****

In The Woolpack, under Chas Dingle’s sharp eyes, he raised a glass to Katie, let as much of Andy’s heartfelt speech wash over him as he could. It was just words, and he could get through this, too. 

His phone rang – “Run home to wifey?” Chas Dingle inquired…and he did start running, but out into the dark and around the back of The Woolpack, feet slapping hard against the ground and his breath coming fast as he called, “It’s off,” as loudly as he dared. 

The dark-haired man took the money Robert suddenly realised he was holding. “Expensive mistake.” An odd pattern of horizontal shadows fell across his face – like light shining through… 

_Slatted blinds_ , Robert realised, and turned to find himself in the corridor outside Aaron’s hospital room. It took him a minute before he could make himself walk in. So much for keeping it light. 

“You alright?” Aaron asked, pushing himself more upright as soon as he saw Robert. It didn’t make him look any less fragile, any less like he’d literally run himself into the ground. 

Robert couldn’t answer him. He hadn’t realised an affair meant signing up for _this_ either – this mixture of anger and guilt and fear and responsibility simmering in his gut. _All right_? That was the last fucking thing he was. Instead he said, “I’m not here. I’m picking up a takeaway.” 

“Flattered,” Aaron said. Robert waited for him to talk about his mum and Paddy and clarify how much they knew/didn’t know (and just _how_ had Robert managed to start up an affair with someone who simultaneously bottled everything up – and yet had no idea what a _secret_ was?) – but instead, he plucked at the hospital gown and said, “Is this why you kept it going so long?” 

Robert frowned. “What?” 

“Were you that afraid I’d top myself?” Aaron asked bluntly. “Afraid I’d end up in here – like I am right now? Is that what kept you hanging around. Pity?” 

“What?” he said again. “No.” Then, at Aaron’s look, “No – I mean…yeah, I was worried about you, but…I don’t know! You weren’t coping, _clearly_ ,” he indicated the bed and hospital gown, “and I didn’t want you to – feel like you were on your own with this.” 

“So it _was_ pity,” Aaron decided, and Robert looked away, studied the low shine of the linoleum floor. He couldn’t put it into words – he’d never _asked_ for this responsibility, never _wanted_ it…but as soon as he’d been locked out of Aaron’s life, he’d forced his way in and _demanded_ it. Because there was no-one else he could trust to make sure Aaron was all right. 

He swallowed, said, “You’re lying in a hospital bed, after nearly running yourself to death. I don’t know how to break it to you, but you’ve had _less_ pathetic days.” 

And yeah, it was true. There _was_ pity there – what else was Robert supposed to feel when Aaron had sat in that bed and talked about his jealousy of Chrissie, then said things like, “I’ve accepted it now,” and “I’m happy the way things are,” so obviously desperate for more that he was willing to delude himself into being satisfied with less. 

He’d felt more anger though – anger at Aaron, so painfully open, _making_ Robert feel pity for him. And, strangest of all, he’d felt anger on Aaron’s behalf – that Aaron should bargain himself away for _so little_. Even seethed at himself for continuing to accept it, because this thing with Aaron was very obviously more trouble than it was worth at this stage, but – Robert wasn’t going to say no, was he? He didn’t _want to_ say no. 

And all that – it wasn’t even _half_ of what he’d felt. 

“You _know_ why I’m here,” he said, in the silence of the hospital room. “All this…it’s just – messed with your head a bit. Because you _do_ know how I feel about you.” 

And that was true too. Because Aaron had said it – “I need her,” – and Robert had untangled his own impulsive stupidity to make sure of it. Chas being around…it was what was best for Aaron – and that had tipped the scales. Changed the out-of-my-hands resignation he was clinging to (he’d _tried_ to call it off, hadn’t he?)…into a determination that a dodgy, out-of-order phone number couldn’t stop. 

Because _pity_ wasn’t why he was standing here. 

Aaron took him in. “Yeah,” he said. “Shame it’s not enough.” He moved to lie down, turning his back to Robert. He waited for the room to blur into nothingness, but instead – 

“Why are you so stressed?” Chrissie said, appearing out of nowhere to perch on the edge of Aaron’s hospital bed. She didn’t appear aware of her surroundings, and Aaron didn’t appear aware of her, back resolutely toward both of them. 

“I don’t like making mistakes,” Robert said. He kept his eyes on Aaron, unmoving under the sheets – a fixed point, even as the walls and floor shifted into the Home Farm office. The hospital bed occupied the space where the desk was usually. 

“What – and now you want me to feel sorry for you?” Chrissie’s presence and voice was suddenly replaced with Chas – strident on the other side of the room. “Robert, if you want an easy life, try keeping it in your pants!” She came closer, close enough that her hip butted up against the hospital bed, opposite Robert, Aaron lying between them. 

“You have no idea what could have happened,” Robert told her, because _fuck_. Fuck, he’d _thought_ – 

“Then let that be a lesson,” she said. “You treat him good from now on – and me and you won’t have a problem.” 

He released a shaky breath. “Yeah – somehow I doubt that.” 

It didn’t come as a surprise to blink and find her gone. He picked up his phone, looked at Aaron for a long moment – still incongruously laid out in his office. “Not got anything to say about this?” he asked, but Aaron didn’t move, didn’t speak. 

Robert swallowed and pressed the call button. Another blink and the hospital bed was empty now, just rumpled sheets to show that anyone had been there in the first place. “Yeah – uh, the signal must have cut out. No, you don’t know me. I need a job doing.” 

He pulled back the phone, which…now that he glanced at it, wasn’t a phone at all, but a rock, rough and heavy in his gloved palm. He looked up, found himself surrounded by trees and undergrowth…Chas ‘first I’m gonna find my son and then I’m gonna tell Chrissie who she’s really married to’ Dingle straight ahead of him. His heart sped up in his chest as he moved forward, gripped the rock tighter. 

Dropped it onto the floor of Home Farm, where Chrissie said, “I actually don’t know how much more of this I can take.” 

“That makes two of us,” Robert muttered, waiting for the thumping in his chest to slow. 

“I know you thought it was a good thing going away with them, but it really wasn’t.” 

He whipped his head up, like Dog getting a whiff of a treat. The holiday. Of course. Chrissie and Lawrence and Lachlan gone and Home Farm – all his. His and – 

“I should’ve come with you,” he said absently. And yeah, he should. Except he hadn’t, had he – and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel any conscience-assuaging guilt this time around. He _needed_ this. 

“I wish you had,” she agreed. “I’ve never felt so alone.” She brushed at his shoulders, tried to steady her voice. “Still – it was the same for you…no-one here to keep you company.” 

He rested his chin on her shoulder and tried to will the holiday into existence more quickly. 

*****

Aaron stepped inside the front door, and Robert drank in his startled huff as he took in the new décor of Home Farm.

“You went all out,” he said, as he batted some purple balloons out of the way while following Robert into the kitchen. They were everywhere – clustered in corners, tied onto cupboard and door handles, looped together in groups of three and placed onto tables and countertops like enormous flowers. They trailed their lightly purple strings through every available inch of the sitting room and kitchen. Robert watched him take it all in, not even trying to fight the grin that stretched his face.

“This more general weirdness, or have you just got a serious thing for rubber?” Aaron asked, still nonplussed.

“I think it’s because of Vic’s party – remember?”

“I don’t think she had this many,” Aaron objected.

“Yeah well – I suppose I had to compensate for the size of this place, didn’t I? Subconsciously, I mean.” He popped the tops off of two bottles.

“Suppose.”

Robert handed him a beer, and with a last, vaguely suspicious glance around their purplish surroundings, Aaron clinked it against Robert’s own drink. 

Robert couldn’t stop smiling – at Aaron’s reaction, at the balloons themselves. It was like being a kid again, and he put the bottle down on the counter without even taking a sip. “Listen,” he said, unable to wait any longer. “I know this is only temporary, right – but…let’s make the most of it, yeah? I mean – what’s the point in holding back, or wasting time or – _whatever_. Let’s just enjoy the time we’ve got instead. Every second of it.”

Aaron took a drink as he considered it. Studied the kitchen. Looked at Robert. “Go out with a bang, you mean?” He sounded resigned, more than anticipatory…but then he nodded, almost to himself. “All right.”

Robert wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the smile on his face stretched even wider. “Yeah?” he said.

Aaron shrugged. “Why not?”

Robert reached out and caught hold of the beer bottle Aaron still held, pulled it free and set it down on the table, before taking hold of Aaron’s hand. Robert tugged him out of the kitchen, walking backwards through a forest of purple, anticipation already building inside him. “In that case,” he said, and he could even hear the smile in his words, “Why don’t we go and see if there are any balloons upstairs?”

There were…though Robert only caught sight of them later, after he’d finally come, and collapsed from sitting to lying flat on his back on his and Chrissie’s bed, legs hanging over the edge. Purple and weightless, they bumped against the ceiling, trailed their delicate looking strings downwards. Robert stared up at them, put down a hand to stroke Aaron’s head, resting warm against his thigh – and laughed because he just couldn’t keep the feeling – fierce and delirious – inside any more.

*****

He’d thought of it as a holiday…and it was, because when it began, it seemed like it might last forever – but then it ended far too fast.

Even at the time it had been a bit of a blur of food and fun and fucking – DVDs and pizza and beer and lazy, lengthy bouts of sex…then lather rinse repeat. Now it just rolled too easily from one moment to the next – running a hand down Aaron’s bare arm turning into waking pressed up against Aaron’s back turning into lights off and their voices soft and slow in the dark turning into kissing turning into his hand on Aaron’s cock turning into Aaron’s thighs wrapped around his hips turning into Aaron’s fingers too tight in his hair…

And through it all, Robert was trapped between wanting to stop, to take a breath and slow it all down for just a moment to fix it all properly in his mind – and plunging forward, filling every second with more and more –

Until there was nothing left. He found himself on the sofa with Aaron, a creeping dread in his stomach, and said, disbelievingly, “I had better things to do than shopping,” because this – this couldn’t be it. They’d had _days_ – it couldn’t just be condensed and gone, just like that.

“Stay,” he said. “Just – skip whatever it is, everything, and we can go back to bed.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Aaron began, but Robert shook his head. “No. I mean it.”

Aaron frowned at him. “I can’t _stay_. I didn’t before.”

“So?” Robert said. “Who cares?” He shook his head again. “There has to be more – this, this can’t just be _it_.”

“Yeah, well it is,” Aaron said. He’d been just as fervent as Robert, thrown himself just as intensely into this – but now it was like something had been switched off inside of him. He pulled away and got to his feet. 

Robert’s phone beeped. He didn’t check it. He didn’t need to.

He walked slowly to the kitchen, where Aaron shut the fridge door, and looked up, no longer whole-hearted, but wary, braced. “Go on,” he said. “Say it.”

“Chrissie’s coming home,” Robert said, and reached out. “But – not until tomorrow” – Aaron stepped back – and Robert folded his fingers in tight against his palms. “Don’t ruin it.”

Aaron looked at him. “What’s left to ruin?” he asked.

*****

There was a single purple balloon in the men’s bathroom – it was floating in the corner where the walls met, string dangling down near the hand-dryer. Robert stared at it, then at Aaron’s tense back as he leaned his hands against the sink.

“Let me guess – they’re going away, right?” he said, voice steady. He didn’t turn around. “We’ll have the place to ourselves, yeah?”

“Aaron” –

“How’m I doing? Am I close?”

“All right, I know, it’s shit,” Robert said – though that didn’t seem to adequately describe the peculiar cruelty of being compelled to make plans that led inexorably to dead ends. He could still see the barest flash of purple in the corner of his eye. “Look, why don’t we find something else to talk about? Take our minds off it.” He came forward, close enough to touch Aaron’s elbow. “What do you say?”

Aaron finally turned around from the sink, shrugging off Robert’s hand as he did so. “No thanks,” he said. “Think I’ve had just about all I can take of playing pretend.”

His face was set and still – but in his lack of expression, the flatness of his voice, Robert could find traces of that determined, inward misery Aaron seemed almost to nurture at times. 

“Right, because re-living every excruciating detail is obviously so much better. That what’s got _you_ so made up, is it?” He softened his voice. “I _do_ understand, you know. This isn’t exactly easy for me, either.”

If he’d hoped to provoke a reaction from Aaron, no luck. “Tomorrow then?” he said.

“Stop it.”

“Tomorrow,” Aaron told him. “That’s what you say.”

“Fine! I get it,” Robert told him. “This is all my fault, and you’re angry. I get it. So” –

“You’re supposed to go now,” Aaron interrupted. “In case you’ve forgotten.”

“ _So _why don’t you stop playing the martyr, and let me have it?” He stared Aaron down. “Can even take a swing at me, if you like. _Come on_.”__

“And what’s that gonna solve?” Aaron’s jaw worked, and Robert seized on this small sign that he was having any effect at all.

“Might make you feel better.”

“Not likely.” Aaron looked at him. “Now, are you gonna go or” –

“No,” Robert said. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Doesn’t look like I’ve got to do anything,” Aaron said, with a small gesture at the dull coloured walls which were slowly fading away. “But – if you won’t…”

“Don’t!” Robert grabbed for his hand, his arm but he moved too fast. Desperate to stop him, to root him in place, Robert closed his eyes against the blinding light and played his final card. “ _I love you_.”

He’d expected The Woolpack kitchen, but instead, when he opened his eyes, Aaron was sitting on the stairs. Some of the banisters were gone now – creating odd gaps like missing teeth. 

“If you thought it was going to make a difference, you were wrong,” he informed Robert.

Robert shook his head. No. He didn’t believe it.

“‘So nothing’s changed for you’ – that’s what you say,’” Aaron persisted doggedly. “And then I say, ‘Did you really expect it to?’”

“And then you ask me to say it again,” Robert said. Aaron’s eyes flicked away and Robert told him, “I love you.”

Aaron kept looking down as if he hadn’t heard.

He leaned in closer. “Are you not going to say anything back?”

“You’ve heard it.” Aaron’s voice was very quiet – he could barely hear it.

“Tell me again,” Robert said, because even if ‘I can wait’ was poised on the tip of his tongue – it was a lie, and he couldn’t. “Tell me,” he said. “Come on – you said it once already…and what’s it matter _now_ if I know?”

Aaron looked at him, mouth a straight, unhappy line. “Exactly. What’s the point?” His breath came out white in the air as he spoke, and Robert frowned. 

And then Aaron got up. Stood. Informed him, “You know, not everything goes the way you want it to go.”

“Yeah – tell me something I don’t know,” Robert said. 

“D’you even remember why we’re in this mess?”

“Kind of a stupid question – considering we’re living out my memories,” he shot back. 

“All right,” Aaron said. “Let’s do it then. You ready?”

_No_ , Robert wanted to say. “If you are.”

Aaron nodded. “It’s about Katie.” Her name fell like a stone between them. “And the guilt that I have to carry with me for what I did. Not you. Not us. _Me_.” 

He strode away. Down a road, green grass on either side, trees in the distance. Robert looked to his left, at the stupid staircase to nowhere. Started to follow Aaron. “What are you doing? Don’t walk away. Aaron, please!”

He turned back then, sharp, and spat, “You can’t possibly know how I _feel_. What I’ve done is gonna haunt me forever…and I can’t live with that.”

Robert’s heart thumped dully in his chest. “Don’t,” he said. It felt like he was choking. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Yeah – because I really want to go through all this again. Don’t act like _I’m_ the one in charge of what happens here.” Aaron shook his head and kept walking.

Robert fought back the nausea, pushed it down. Called out, “Okay! Okay. What happened to Katie – it was my fault, alright? _I did it_.” 

Aaron stopped. 

“I killed her.” 

Turned.

Adam, now suddenly set up at a table (The Woolpack kitchen table) in the middle of the road, ignored the loaded silence between them, and piped up with, “If you’re wondering why he’s looking a little bit more cheerful than usual, well it’s because someone donated two grand to his fundraiser.”

Robert ignored his rabbiting heart. “Yeah. I know.”

He kept his eyes on Aaron as Adam burbled a mixture of praise and incredulity before loping off with a, “Top man, Rob,” and an, “I’ll see you in a bit, mate.”

There was, oddly, the sound of a door closing from behind Robert, even though there _was_ no door, and he and Aaron were alone again.

“So what – you think you throwing your money around’s gonna change anything?”

“Well, at least you’re not ignoring me now, are you?” He started to edge around the table and Aaron went rigid. “I know we’ve got to relive this…I know you don’t get a choice about it – and I’m sorry. Believe me, it’s the last thing I want to do either. But – if there’s something you need to say… _say it_. Don’t use this as an excuse to beat yourself up again.” 

Carefully, he came to stand next to Aaron. “We can help each other through this. All right? You look out for me – and I’ll look out for you. Deal?”

He held out his hand. Aaron looked down at it for a long moment. “What’s the point?” he said again, and started to run.

At which point Paddy ambled over to tell him, “He was fine until he got mixed up with you. So just – just…just stay away.”

“Thanks for that. Very helpful. Don’t notice _you_ rushing after him by the way. Caring about Aaron more of a spectator sport for you, is it?” Robert watched Aaron grow smaller and smaller in the distance. Heard himself say, “You know, I’ve enough upset in my own family without worrying about Aaron.” 

Robert stared at the dark moving speck just on the edge of his vision, shook his head and began to walk – he raised his voice enough to shout at David, just before he broke into a jog, “Speaking of which – before you ask, Lachlan’s back tomorrow.”

*****

A pow wow about Andy around The Woolpack kitchen table, still no closer to its true location, given the Home Farm trimmings that surrounded it.

“You might not care, but I’m worried sick,” Diane said, while Victoria’s eyes were wide and troubled.

Robert’s knee jittered under the table. “Of course I care,” he said. “But – he tried to kill himself. At least this way, no-one’s getting hurt.”

“Don’t mind me,” Lawrence said, as he entered from behind Robert and began to fiddle with the coffee pot. Diane and Victoria did what all sane, sensible people should do when faced with Lawrence White and vanished into thin air. 

As he belatedly noticed the look on Robert’s face, he asked, “How’s Andy?”

Robert got to his feet. “Please – just spare me the false concern.”

Lawrence stirred his coffee carefully. Handed Robert a cup. “Look, he couldn’t live here forever.”

“Funny definition of ‘forever’ you’ve got – considering you only managed a couple of days before kicking him out.” Robert said. “He’s my _brother_. Not that I should expect that to mean anything to you.”

“I feel for him. I really do.”

“But not enough to help him out,” Robert observed. He put the cup down, and turned the corner in time to see Andy and Tracy walk out the front door. Looked down at his phone, thumb hovering over the first name in his contacts. 

A thought hit him and he closed his eyes. Said – testingly, “I got your text.”

He kept them tight shut until he heard Aaron say, “Yeah, well, I needed to talk to you.”

The air huffed out of him in relief, even as he tried to forestall Aaron’s inevitable next move. “Listen – I know what you’re going to say” –

“Occupational hazard, I suppose,” Aaron agreed. He was sitting in one of The Woolpack kitchen chairs. 

“– but it doesn’t have to go like that,” Robert continued, getting louder, speaking over him. He could still hear Lawrence puttering about in the kitchen, faintly. 

“We’re done,” Aaron said. “Whatever this was – it’s over.”

Robert suddenly realised he was shaking his head. He tried to stay calm, because this was just what Aaron did. Put up the 'Keep Out' signs, the better to hurt himself. “ _No_. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t have to push me away – I’m gonna help you through this.”

Aaron stared at him as if he’d never seen him before. “You what?”

“You don’t have to do this alone. You never did,” Robert said. “And you should know that by now, so” –

“Oh I should, should I?” Aaron laughed – a dry sound that grated on Robert’s ears.

“Yes,” Robert said. Unclenched his jaw. He couldn’t understand why Aaron was making this so difficult.

“So…you’re _not_ erasing your memories then.”

“What?”

“Because – and tell me if I’m wrong – once those are gone…I’ll be the only one who remembers what happened to Katie.”

Robert stared at him. “What?”

“Obviously not _me_ – since I’m in your head and I won’t exist anymore…but – in real life.” Aaron shrugged. “That’s how this thing works, isn’t it? Must be nice – getting rid of me _and_ any guilt you might feel about Katie at the same time. Package deal, was it?”

It had crossed his mind…of course it had. Those memories were inexorably bound up with Aaron in his mind – he’d known they’d be part of the process. But he hadn’t – considered what that would _mean_.

“I never really…thought about it. Not – like this anyway.”

“And if you had – would you have done it?” Aaron shook his head. “Yeah – don’t answer that.”

“Well you know, considering that the last thing you…the real you,” the phrase was strange in his mouth, “ever did was set fire to my whole life – which, thanks, by the way – I really don’t think you were expecting to be crying on my shoulder anytime soon. You know, in reality.”

He took a breath, groped in the sudden dark for words. “But anyway, that doesn’t change the fact that – _you_ don’t have to do it alone. _We_ don’t. Not this time. Yeah, alright, I can admit, I’ve not always done the right thing, when it comes to you. Us. But – I can do _this_ , if you’ll let me.”

“Except it’s not gonna make any difference,” Aaron pointed out. “Because it’s all gonna turn out the same in the end, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah, if you won’t even _try_ ,” Robert said. “And who cares how it ends up, if it helps you right _now_? So come on – what do you say?” He waited, whole body poised for Aaron’s answer. 

Slow and small, Aaron shook his head.

He took a deep, cold breath, and overhead, fireworks burst in the night sky. No more Home Farm – just him and Aaron and Andy, stood out on the edge of a quarry.

Andy stared down over the edge, and it was just a memory – only a memory now – but the panic pounded through Robert all the same. 

“ _Please_ ,” he said. “I’m begging you. I’m sorry, Andy – I am. I’m so, so sorry.” The fireworks kept erupting, showers of red and gold, and Robert watched the sparks flare and die. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You’re my brother, I love you, and – and it kills me that you’re out here, because of me. But please – just stand back. For me, for _Katie_ – Aaron, please don’t let him!”

Leaned up against the back of the car, like his legs couldn’t hold him up properly, Aaron said, in a dead, abstracted voice, “This is your decision. You make it.”

And Andy finally, painfully concluded, “I don’t need to kill myself. I’m already dead. I died with her,” and turned back.

It was all okay – or it would be soon, which was the same thing, Robert told himself. 

He stared out across the quarry and heard the sound of grit and small stones being dislodged as Aaron came to stand by him. Another volley of fireworks started up. 

“See – that was the worst of it. And you’re still in one piece.” His eyes stung in the cold air. “If you could get through this, you’re probably gonna be alright.”

That stood for the Aaron outside his head as well, he thought. Real Aaron. Though the Aaron standing to his right felt pretty real to him. 

Robert glanced across when Aaron didn’t answer. He was standing, toes right over the edge, and staring down into the drop. _Boom_ –golden flickers expanded across the sky, burning hot and bright. 

“Aaron?” His heart started to beat harder in his chest.

Aaron finally turned his head to face him. “Did you really believe it? What you said. That you could make it different, change things – if you tried?”

He was breathing fast, almost pushing the air out every time he exhaled – mouth making an ‘o’ shape. Robert looked at him and tried to make sense of it. “I don’t know. I suppose. I mean – anything’s possible, isn’t it?”

Aaron nodded, absently, gaze already drawn back to the gaping chasm beneath his feet. Robert watched the quick rise and fall of his chest. 

No.

The pieces fit together – the pieces all made sense, and there’d been that moment the first time when he’d looked out of the car window and Aaron hadn’t been there and never mind his heart – his whole _body_ had thumped with fear, but _no_.

_No_.

“You’re not going to _jump_ ,” Robert said, pure disbelief kicking in, insulating him somewhat from the dread that was creeping up his legs, paralysing him. He kept shaking his head, “It didn’t happen like that – remember? You _can’t_. It wouldn’t _work_ , even if you did. D’you hear me, Aaron? _Aaron_.”

“Only one way to find out,” Aaron said.

_Boom_. Red sizzled across the sky, and the word ripped right out of Robert’s chest – “ _AARON_!”

As Aaron stepped right over the edge.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's a fucking _Allegro_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, making notes before I ever started this fic: Wouldn't it be amusing if Aaron found a really shitty car for Robert! Ha ha ha - that would be fun!
> 
> Me then: Except I don't know anything about cars.
> 
> Me then: ...eh, how hard could it be?
> 
> Me now, after looking up a million articles about cars: PLENTY HARD.
> 
> Basically, I still know nothing about cars, but the Austin Allegro seems to pop up a bunch in 'why even IS this car?' articles. I tried.

The next morning, Adam whistles and shakes his head when Robert comes into the kitchen. “Got a face like memory foam, you have, mate.”

Robert gives this exactly the amount of consideration it deserves and ignores Adam completely as he lowers himself into a chair. Adam’s like a more annoying Dog – the last thing he needs is encouragement. 

Vic pushes her cereal bowl away and comes around the table to examine him, warm hands on his face, gently tilting his head and assessing the damage. “Well, now we know two things,” she tells him, “One – you have got some sort of freaky healing powers or something, because you look _bad_ , but nowhere near as bad as you _should_ considering the state you were in yesterday.”

“Think that might be down to Andy, actually,” Robert says. “Came by my room with some cream last night.”

“Did he?” Vic says, and raises her eyebrows at him. “Hmm. Sounds like Project Andy is coming along nicely.”

“Er, don’t get overexcited – it was a tube of Arnica, not a vow of undying love.” 

“In this family, it’s pretty much the same thing,” Vic says with a practicality that makes Adam snort. “Think about it - he’s moved from trying to _hurt_ ya, to trying to _help_ ya. That is massive. Come on – you’ve got to feel at least a little bit encouraged by it.”

“It’s all right, I guess,” Robert allows, then says, “What’s number two?”

“What?”

“You said that we know two things. What’s the other one?”

“Oh, right.” She touches a gentle thumb to the skin under his eye, which he winces away from. “Purple’s really not your colour.”

*****

“The stairs?” Diane repeats, and seriously – is it that much more believable that there’s an army of people baying for Robert’s blood than that he missed a step? He lets Diane cluck at him in exchange for a free drink – which he’s nearly finished when Aaron and Adam walk in. Perfect timing.

He glances back, waits as they settle in to a table, then, when Adam approaches the bar with an “Alright, Robert?” he lifts his almost empty glass and says, “Well, if you’re asking…”

“Er –yeah, okay…same again?”

Robert makes an affirmative noise over his shoulder, already beelining away from the counter and toward the table in the corner. He slides in next to Aaron and says, “I fell down the stairs, in case you’re wondering – though I’m sure your mate already told you that.”

Aaron looks at him. “This might come as a surprise, but I don’t actually ask Adam for regular updates on you – you’re not the weather.”

Robert rolls his eyes. “Well, you _should_ be interested, considering it’s what I told everyone to cover up the truth. You know, about the beating your uncle gave my _face_ yesterday.”

“What beating?” Aaron replies, without the slightest pause. And, “Your face looks like it always does to me.”

Robert’s got a bruised protrusion around his eye, and his lip (cut once by Andy) has puffed up again. Despite the magic of Arnica, he’s got strangers sucking in a pained breath upon sight of him – and to add insult to (unprovoked) injury, Aaron’s telling him that that’s a common state of affairs. 

“Uh… _thank you_?”

“It weren’t a compliment.”

“I meant you could try being _grateful_ for a change. Considering I just saved you _and_ your mum a lot of aggro.” He looks toward the lively conversation that’s broken out at the bar, delaying Adam’s return with the drinks. “Don’t think Diane’d be that pleased to hear the truth…do you?”

“What d’you want, Robert?” Aaron says flatly, unimpressed.

His name in Aaron’s mouth makes something jerk low in his stomach. Maybe it’s because Aaron hasn’t actually used it that often...Robert wonders if this might even be the first time he’s said it. “Thought we could talk a bit about my car,” he says, voice smooth. “You’ve probably got some questions.”

Aaron shrugs. “Just one, actually. How much are you willing to shell out?”

“Let’s just say my price point’s…flexible,” Robert tells him – and this was seriously one of his better ideas. Talking cars with Aaron – that’s good for a few weeks of huddled debate over makes, models…some good-natured ribbing over his taste…maybe even a couple of trips to check out potential purchases…

“That’s not an actual number,” Aaron points out.

“Yeah, well, right now it’s all a bit theoretical – since you’ve not got a car to show me” –

“Never said that.”

Robert frowns. “You’ve got something for me? Already?”

“It’s not definite. Maybe.” He looks at Robert. “Thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am,” Robert says, though that’s not really what he’s feeling. Yeah, he wanted a car, but – he’d been looking forward to the process of finding the car just as much. More, maybe. “Are you always such a fast worker?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “You seemed pretty desperate to get started yesterday.”

A thought strikes Robert. Aaron _is_ part-Dingle, after all. “This is – all aboveboard, yeah?”

Aaron snorts. “Strange time to develop a conscience – after you basically blackmailed me into helping you.” In a lower voice, “It’s all legit. But if you’d rather go to another garage” –

“No. It’s fine.” Robert sits up a bit straighter, because process or no process, the payoff’s still a new car. “So – what’ve you got for me? Is it really that good?” He lets his imagination run riot, “An MGA? E-Type? You’ve never managed to bag an Austin Healey, have you?”

“I don’t wanna tell you in case it doesn’t come through…let’s just say – I think it’s perfect.”

Robert holds his eyes, deliberate. “Reckon you know what makes me tick, then?”

Aaron gives a one-shouldered shrug.

“Well…if it works out, I’ll have to take you for a spin. To show my appreciation.”

“So you’re all right with the money side of it – because it’s pricey. Plus – finder’s fee,” Aaron says, fingers curling toward his palms as he indicates himself. 

“Yeah, of course. You’ve got my go-ahead,” Robert tells him and adds, “‘You get what you pay for’ – that’s always been my motto.”

As Adam finally makes his way back with the drinks, Aaron looks down at the table, the corners of his mouth just barely pulling up as he shakes his head. “Funny that. Mine’s ‘you get what you deserve.’”

*****

After that it’s impossible to continue their talk, since Adam’s steering the conversational ship. He plonks the drinks on the table and half-climbs over Robert, with a “you don’t mind, do you?” so that he’s the one sitting next to Aaron. Adam then proceeds to have a silent (though not exactly subtle) debate with him using facial expressions and small hand gestures, that only ends when Aaron pointedly looks away.

And yeah, all right, Robert had jumped the gun with the whole ‘affair’ thing, but it’s not normal behaviour, is it? All this stupid ‘we have a secret handshake, and you can’t play’ shit was supposed to end after hitting puberty, right? Unless you were his sister’s husband, clearly. Or _Aaron_ , who’d got shirty about the accusations of attempted homewrecking, but not outright denied having a thing for Adam. Long ago crush or more ongoing issue, Robert doesn’t know – but he’s had enough of being treated like the new kid in school, and he clears his throat and says, “So – this car you were talking about” –

Aaron aims a glare his way, but his face smooths out when Adam looks at him and says, “What car?”

“Nothing,” Aaron says, then, “Just – telling him about that bloke who came in last week.”

As soon as Adam turns his head, Aaron raises his eyebrows at Robert and shakes his head, a clear cue that Robert immediately takes. “Yeah – that’s the one.”

Adam’s gaze flick between them, before he grins at Aaron and says, “Proper nightmare, wannit?”

Luckily, it’s a story about some guy who tried to have his ex’s car crushed, so Robert’s got an excuse for the smirk on his face. And when the drinks are gone, and everyone stands, Adam making noises about getting home to Vic – there’s another stroke of luck. His phone rings, and he turns away from the table to answer it. 

“Yeah – what’s up?” he says, and Robert takes the opportunity to lean in and murmur, “You didn’t tell him you’re finding me a car.”

“Never came up,” Aaron says, in the same low voice. Then, on the attack, “Didn’t notice you rushing in to set it straight.”

“Nothing to me.” Robert tracks his face. “I just didn’t think the two of you had any secrets.” 

Aaron avoids his eyes. “It’s not a secret – just…it’s not that important, that’s all.”

“What? Mum – I’ve not been there in ages, why would I know where it is?” Adam says, twisting around to roll his eyes at Aaron, before turning back again. Robert can’t stop the little flicker of triumph he feels at the idea of Aaron, deliberately keeping something from Adam. That that something is _him_ …

This – whatever it _is_ – is real. 

Robert studies the line of Aaron’s neck, his dark head. “Give me your number,” he says suddenly, reaching into his pocket.

Aaron’s head jerks up. “No,” he says with unflattering, confusing immediacy. Then, a full few seconds later. “Why?”

“Well, did you try” – Adam continues, while Robert stares at Aaron and says, “Why d’you think? You’re finding me a car – it’d be nice if you could get in touch. How do your other clients manage – Morse code? Smoke signals?”

Unbelievably, Aaron still seems to be deliberating it – and so Robert gestures over his shoulder and says, “I could always ask Adam for it. Since it’s not a big deal.” He holds out his mobile.

The man in question keeps talking, oblivious. “Seriously though – it’s gotta turn up. I mean, be fair, who else would even want it” –

Aaron glowers at Robert and takes the phone to key in his number.

*****

It’s after tea when Vic launches her offensive. She’s been fairly quiet all through the meal, smiling down at her plate every time she glances between Robert and Andy, but it’s not until they’ve finished that she says it. “D’you realise it’s been almost a month?” At everyone’s blank glances, she adds, “Since Rob came back, and we’ve been living together.”

“A month? It can’t be,” Robert says. He’s not been here that long.

“Well – three weeks and four days, really…but who’s counting?”

It doesn’t _feel_ like it’s been that long. He hadn’t planned…it hits him again that he hadn’t planned anything at all. 

“Tomorrow’s Friday – and I think we should go for a drink. To celebrate,” Vic says, oblivious to his thoughts. 

“Sounds good,” Adam says.

“No – I mean…all of us. You, me, Robert. Andy.” 

He looks up at the mention of his name. “Vic…”

“Nothing big – just a nice, quiet, family drink in The Woolpack,” she says. “What d’you say?” She looks around the table. 

“I’m up for it if everyone else is,” Robert says. It’s not like it matters – the ball’s in Chrissie’s court, and he might as well wait it out here, as anywhere else. Still…it really doesn’t seem like he’s been in Emmerdale that long. 

“Right…that just leaves…” Vic says, trailing off leadingly as she aims a winning look Andy’s way.

He sighs. “I don’t know. I might be working late.”

“We’ll wait for you,” Vic says, practically overlapping the end of his sentence. “I mean – you’re not gonna be there till ten o’ clock at night, surely.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“It’s not a problem. So…you’ll definitely go?” she presses.

Andy looks away.

“There’s no point fighting me on this, so do yourself a favour and don’t even try. Remember yesterday – your horoscope? The Full Moon? Stop working so hard and don’t forget your family this weekend?”

“I don’t know if it was that specific,” Robert says. She throws a glance his way, but almost immediately returns her attention to Andy. “Come on – you can’t say no…it’s written in the stars!”

“I’ll see how I’m fixed,” Andy says, avoiding her eyes as he gets to his feet.

“That’s a definite ‘yes’ then?” she calls after him, as he leaves the kitchen.

*****

It’s _not_ a definite yes, which Vic finds out the following evening. Andy comes in late, and she immediately hops off the sofa, turning off the TV.

“Great!” she says. “Finally. Looks like we’re all set.” She pulls Adam to his feet, and crooks her fingers at Robert.

“I’m not going,” Andy says.

“What? But – there’s loads of time. Just go upstairs and change into a clean shirt – we’ll wait for you.”

“I’m really tired Vic,” he says. “Another night maybe.”

“Well then – you can just have the one…and come straight home after,” Vic says. “Come on – it’ll be nice…Diane’s gonna join us, so the whole family’ll” – 

“I said, another time, alright?!” Andy says sharply.

“– be there,” Vic finishes in a quieter voice. Adam puts a comforting arm around her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry – but I’m really not up for it tonight,” Andy says, a bit more subdued, but no less firm. 

Victoria looks down and nods. “Right,” she says in a squashed kind of voice.

“I’d…probably just ruin your night anyway.” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if he wants to say something more, but finally he shakes his head and just walks out of the room. 

“Ey, you know what he’s like these days,” Adam says, rubbing her back. “Babe, you tried – y’can’t do more than that.”

“I know,” Vic says into his chest. “I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s just, he seemed to be doing a bit better lately, and. I just.” She gives a smile that wobbles at the corners, “Really wanted us to go out and have a nice time together.”

“We still can,” Adam says. “Yeah, alright, Andy’s not coming, but – we’re ready to go,” he indicates himself and Robert, “and Diane’s waiting” –

“I’d feel awful just leaving Andy on his own,” Victoria says. “It’d be like we’re telling him he doesn’t matter or something.” She rubs her forehead. “D’you think I should go upstairs? Try to talk to him?”

“Vic, no – best to leave him off, give him some space.”

“I’ll stay,” Robert finds himself saying. “I’ll do it.” 

His sister looks over at him. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ll stay. Maybe he’ll talk to me.”

Vic and Adam exchange glances. “I don’t know if that’s” –

“Come on – you said yourself that you don’t want to leave him on his own. And, for the first time in his life, I’d say he’s more pissed off with _you_ than me – which sort of makes me the obvious choice to keep him company.”

“And – what’ll you do if he really doesn’t _want_ company?” Vic asks.

Robert shrugs. “If he slams the door in my face, well, I’ve still got that tube of Arnica handy.” He comes forward to put a hand on her shoulder. “Seriously – if Andy tells me to bog off…well, I _can_ take no for an answer.”

“Since when?” Adam mutters. Vic absently pokes him with her elbow, but doesn’t take her eyes off Robert – and he addresses himself entirely to her when he says, “I’m not going to be stupid about it.”

“Right then…are you sure?” Despite everything (including but not limited to the ten years of her life he’s missed, as well as the good-natured scepticism with which she usually treats every word that comes out of his mouth) there are times like now, when she just looks up at him with a kind of unwavering faith. Like he’s still her big brother, and she can trust him to make everything right.

He lets his hand slide down her arm, reassures her with a squeeze before he lets go. “You don’t want to keep Diane waiting.”

*****

He rummages through the kitchen cabinets until he finds a mostly full bottle of whiskey – then he grabs two glasses, and heads up the stairs. He stands in the corridor outside Andy’s bedroom for a moment, cradling both glasses and bottle using one arm, before rapping on the door with his free hand.

There’s a long, unmoving silence from inside, before he finally hears the sound of feet on the floor.

“Vic, I really don’t” – the door swings open and Andy stops.

“Yeah – not Vic. Obviously.”

“What d’you want?” And, in fairness to Andy – he does sound tired, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.

Robert holds out the bottle and the glasses in wordless explanation.

“Like I said earlier – I don’t want a drink.”

“Well I’ve got all night …are you really going to make me wait out here until you develop a thirst?”

Andy shakes his head and turns his back, retreating into his room, but he doesn’t shut the door. Taking that for the best invitation he’s going to receive, Robert follows him in.

“You might as well sit down,” Andy says. He’s already sitting, back hunched, at the foot of the bed. Robert joins him, hands him a glass, and tells him, “Say when,” as he starts to pour from the bottle.

His eyebrows rise as whiskey tumbles into the glass and Andy makes no move to stop him. Robert finally tips the bottle back when the glass is well over half full. As he pours a measure for himself, he says, “Well, get that down you and at least it’ll make it easy to find out what the problem is.”

Andy takes a healthy swallow, closes his eyes. “What makes you think there’s a problem? I told you – I’m tired.”

“Don’t know how to break it to you – but no-one’s buying that.” He takes a sip of his own drink. “Come on – you’re not telling me the prospect of spending some time with Vic’s all that bad. Even if I’m there too.”

Andy frowns at him. “You think I didn’t want to go tonight because of you?”

“Considering what happened last time we had a drink together, I thought it might be a possibility,” Robert says.

Andy shakes his head, looks down at the glass he’s holding loosely in his lap. “Not everything’s about you, Robert.”

“Well, maybe you could tell me what it is about, then.”

Andy takes another swallow. And another.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Robert feels the need to remind him. Andy turns the glass in his hands, round and round. Robert just waits.

“A family drink – that’s what she said,” he says finally. “The whole family.”

“Right…and?”

Andy looks up at him then. “But that’s not true – is it?” Robert stares back at him, because – what is he saying? That _Robert’s_ not…that _they’re_ not…?

“Katie was my family. She was part of _this_ family. But she’s not here, is she?”

Robert takes a breath. “You know Vic didn’t mean it like that.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Andy agrees, too easily. “But that’s just it. No-one ever does.” He tilts his head back and finishes his drink. Silently, he holds out his glass.

As Robert fills it again, he says, carefully, because this is dangerous, lip-splitting ground, “You know – Katie wouldn’t want you to hole up in here just because she’s not around. She’d want you to be happy.”

“I know. Except I _can’t_ be happy, because she’s not there. So. Here we are.” He gives a half-shrug, and swirls the whiskey in his glass. He says, “D’you know what the worst part is?”

Robert just looks at him.

“It’s not the pain – you get used to that.” He stares at the wall opposite. “Though – if someone’d told me that when it happened, those first few days…I wouldn’t have believed them. How could you get used to _hurting_ , every minute of the day? But you do. You get used to feeling like there’s a stone in your chest, and eventually, it’s just – this thing that’s always there in the background. Starts to feel as ordinary as wondering where you’ve left your keys, in the end. Some days are harder than others, of course. But that’s not the worst part.”

It’s the matter-of-fact tone that gets Robert, even as he watches the sheen of Andy’s eyes. “It’s hard. I’m not saying it isn’t. But, Andy – if you don’t try, it’s never going to get any easier.”

“But I don’t _want_ it to get easier,” Andy says. He turns on the bed to face Robert. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I loved her too, you know. Once.” For a change, he doesn’t say it as a challenge – or to piss Andy off. More – in solidarity, because in the little room at Keeper’s Cottage, Andy seems frighteningly alone.

“It’s not the same, though, is it?” Andy says. “Lots of people loved Katie. I mean that’s…of course they did. But me – I _love_ her. I still love her. I’m not _done_ loving her. It feels like – like I’ll never be done.”

He tips the whiskey back again, keeps swallowing until the glass is empty. “ _That’s_ the worst part, you know,” he says, in that same tone. “They say it to you – that time heals everything – and you don’t believe ‘em. Except – it’s true, because you get to watch everyone move on. And sometimes, you find yourself sitting in a crowd of people, and you think – _I’m the only one thinking about her, right now_ …and – and it’s the _loneliest_ feeling in the whole world. To be the only one.”

“Of course people remember Katie,” Robert tells him. “Just because they’re not talking about her all the time doesn’t mean they don’t remember her.” 

“No,” Andy agrees. “But they’re _alright_. She’s gone and they’re alright. And that’s – I can even understand that. Can’t blame people for wanting to get on with their lives. She wasn’t their wife. But she was _mine_.” He blinks and the movement sends tears down his cheeks. “And now, they want _me_ to be alright. To move on, like them. It’s like everyone wants me to stop talking about her, stop thinking about her – so that I can get _better_.” He shakes his head. Robert doesn’t think he even realises he’s crying. “But if being alright means forgetting her – then I don’t _want_ to be alright.” 

Andy looks at him, eyes wet. “Not even for Vic,” he says softly.

Robert sits there, mind whirring. “Then tell me,” he says.

“What?”

“If other people don’t want to hear about Katie – you can tell _me_ about her.” 

“You,” Andy says. It’s so disbelieving, it’s not even a question.

Robert takes his shoulders, forces Andy to meet his eyes. “Yeah. Me. I know it’s probably weird, given our history, but…I did know Katie. I cared about her. And – if this is what you want to do, to remember her…then – I want to help you.” He deliberately looks around the empty room, tries to lighten the mood a bit. “I don’t see any other takers, do you?”

“Why would you help me?” 

This time, Robert can hear the question mark at the end of Andy’s words. It’s progress, he thinks. “Because you’re my brother – and I’m not like everyone else. Because – I don’t need you to be alright.” At least Andy seems to be engaging with the idea. “I just need you to keep talking…to keep saying whatever it is you need to say. And – by the sounds of it, that’s what you need too. So…?” 

He can’t blink, can’t even move while Andy’s looking at him with those searching eyes. He turns his palms upwards in entreaty. “Give it a try, at least?”

Slowly, Andy says, “I think...I’d like that.”

They don’t actually make it that long though, because another measure of whiskey thickens Andy’s voice and makes his eyelids droop.

“Hey – this…this isn’t a one-time offer, you know,” Robert tells him. “Whenever you need to talk – I’ll listen. But maybe you should get some rest for now.”

In response, Andy slowly stretches out on his back on the mattress, but when Robert’s at the door, he says, “We shouldn’t even have been together, you know.”

“What?” Robert turns to look at him.

Andy’s staring at the ceiling. “Me n’ Katie.” The ends of his words have gone all soft, like biscuits dipped in tea. “When y’think about it. Everything that happened.” Still not looking, he flaps a hand at Robert. “You should know, you were there f’r some’v it.”

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, but the words continue to mumble out. “Anyone’d have said it. Why’d you get back together? After everything y’ve been through. Didn’t make sense – none of it.”

He lets his head fall to the side, opens his eyes and looks at Robert. “But I knew. In here,” he softly thumps his fist against his chest. “All the hurt…mistakes. Didn’t matter ‘n the end. I just had to try. S’ how much I needed her. Love her.”

“Get some sleep, Andy,” Robert tells him.

“You ever feel like that about someone? That strong?” he asks, and despite the heaviness clouding his eyes, he seems to take Robert in well enough, because he concludes, “No. Course not.”

He throws a hand over his face. The last thing he mumbles before Robert closes the door is, “And I hope y’never do, Rob. F’r your own sake. Life’s easier that way.”

*****

There’s only half an hour left before closing time, but Robert can’t stand the silence of the cottage, and heads to the pub anyway. It’s just typical that Andy can lie there, a shell of a person, his whole life pitiably contained within one small room – and somehow, without even trying, make _Robert_ feel as if _he’s_ the one who’s failed.

It’s not true. He’d loved Katie. He’d _married_ Chrissie. How much more proof of love does anyone need? 

But at the same time, there’s a creeping doubt that nags at him, an itch underneath his skin that makes him wonder whether Andy’s right. If everyone he’s ever claimed to care about, has only been some pale imitation of love in the end. If there’s something small but fundamental broken inside him – so that he’s not even capable of feeling the real thing.

As he crosses the street, he thinks of Andy, curled up on his single bed, nothing left, nothing to hold onto but memories, and – does he even _want_ that? Would anyone, if they knew? If that’s the price of ‘real’ love – then Andy can keep it. It’s true what he said – life’s easier without it, and Robert tells himself he’s managed just fine so far. _Andy’s_ the broken one, not him. 

Inside the pub it’s warm and bright, with a low buzz of chatter. He looks around and catches sight of Vic and Diane at a table on the other side of the bar. Adam’s got his arm slung around Vic, cuddling her close to his side, and she’s resting her head on his shoulder, and for some reason, it makes him hesitate. He turns to the counter, where he catches Aaron’s eyes on him before he glances away. 

A spark of pleasure warms him, and Robert shoulders in beside him. It’s not so crowded that he needs to stand that close but Robert does anyway. 

“Not going to join your family?” Aaron asks, easing away slightly. He keeps his gaze resolutely forward, gazing at Vic and Adam’s table – as if he can erase the fact that he’d been looking at Robert before, by not looking at him now.

“Shouldn’t _you_ be over there?” he counters. “Thought you’d be having separation anxiety, drinking without your best mate.”

Aaron still doesn’t look at him. “Vic seemed a bit…” he trails off, shrugs. “Didn’t want to intrude.”

Aaron’s alone too, Robert thinks. Set apart from the Vic-and-Adam, Andy-and-Katie, forever-true-love of it all. They can be alone together, he decides, making his shoulder bump against Aaron’s as if by accident. “Guess that leaves you free to talk cars with me then.”

But as ever, Aaron chooses to be difficult, saying, “Not really in the mood to talk shop.”

Robert keeps his eyes focused on the side of Aaron’s face – and at this close range, there’s no way Aaron’s not aware of it. But the slight working of his jaw is all the indication Aaron gives of being uncomfortable, and finally, Robert lets his gaze drift across the bar, toward Vic and Adam again. 

He’s still a bit raw from Andy’s words…though maybe he would have said it anyway – he feels the weight of the words in his mouth, and knows they’ll get a reaction. “Oh yeah? Prefer pining over what you can’t have, do you?”

Aaron’s barstool scrapes back on the floor, and he speaks right into Robert’s ear – “Right. Outside. _Now_.”

He stalks off without waiting to see if Robert follows – maybe he just expects him to, or maybe he’s got some sense of Robert behind him, because as soon as they get outside, he whirls around, shoves Robert up against the wall of The Woolpack. 

“You know, I’ve had just about _enough_ of all your smart comments,” he growls. “All the little _digs_ , all the _looks_ ” – his arm’s like a band against Robert’s chest, and he presses it down even tighter as he speaks. "I'm _sick_ of it."

“Is that so?” Robert manages to gasp out. Aaron’s right up in his face, body jostled against his.

“Yeah. So why don’t you just keep talkin’ – and give me an excuse to finish what Cain started.” His mouth twists at Robert’s expression. “What? You think I won’t do it? Think I won’t batter your face to bits?” He shoves Robert’s head back, until it knocks off the wall. “ _Try me_.”

Robert has his eyes on Aaron’s – dark and hot with anger. They’re both breathing hard. “Go on then – why don’t you?” he challenges, gaze flicking to the line of Aaron’s mouth, adrenaline spiking.

Abruptly, Aaron shoves himself backwards. Takes a moment to compose himself, even though when he looks at Robert, his chest is still rising and falling quickly. He shakes his head. “I know _exactly_ what you’re after,” he informs Robert.

“Oh yeah?” The sound of their breathing seems amplified in Robert’s ears – almost obscene. He’s not entirely aware of what he’s saying, more concerned with the tension between them – the pull. 

“Yeah,” Aaron says, “But take it from me – it’s never gonna happen.”

He says it like a vow - except it’s almost magnetic, the way their eyes lock together. Aaron even has to take a few steps backwards before he can break the contact. It’s happening right _now_ , in spite of all Aaron’s denials. 

“You sure about that?” he finds himself saying.

Aaron finally looks away. “Tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll have your car for you tomorrow. So be ready.”

He turns and strides off down the darkened street – though Robert has no idea where he could be going. Heart still tripping in his chest, Robert leans back against the wall and watches him.

*****

The next day’s a quiet one. Robert sits at the kitchen table, phone in front of him, while Victoria dumps the empty bottle of whiskey and says, “So…apparently, alcohol poisoning’s the way to Andy’s heart now.”

He looks up at her. “What?”

“I’m _kidding_ ,” she says. “He wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs this morning – but I think that was just the hangover…because he seemed a bit –lighter, or something. Whatever you said – it really helped him. Not that he’d tell me what it was.”

Robert shrugs as he scrolls through his contacts – flicking his thumb down the row of titles, and then back up to the very first name on the list. “Just – the usual stuff. You know – I’m here for you if you ever want to talk…that kind of thing.”

“Well, that’s good. Just – maybe you could try it with a bit less liver damage next time.”

Robert doesn’t answer, taps his fingers and looks at his stubbornly empty inbox.

“‘Vic, it’s none of your business,’” his sister says suddenly.

It gets his attention. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, now that we’ve got _that_ out of the way,” she says, and pulls up a chair next to him. “Rob - you’ve been staring at your mobile all morning. Maybe you should just swallow your pride and – call Chrissie already?”

“Call Chrissie?” He frowns at her. “Why would I do that?” 

“Er – because you so clearly want to?” She rests her hand on Robert’s wrist. “Seriously – forget this stupid ‘do nothing’ strategy. You never know. A bit of honesty might work wonders.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Robert says. He doesn’t tell her that Chrissie’s already blocked his number.

*****

It finally comes when he’s stopped expecting it. A ding and his screen lights up with the words – _The garage. Half past 6._

“Hello to you too,” he mutters, but he keeps pressing his lips together, returning to his inbox to study the five innocuous words, like they’re written in code or something. 

He slips out in plenty of time, anticipation making his steps buoyant. Aaron’s stood outside the garage, but he straightens up at the sight of Robert, who doesn’t try to hide his smile. 

“So – you’ve found my perfect car, have you?”

Aaron inclines his head to the side. 

“Well come on – give me the story,” he says, as they start walking.

“Not much to tell, really. I was collecting scrap from this farm – old couple…had all these sheds. Stuff everywhere. And that’s when I saw it.”

“A real barn find, then,” Robert says, grin still stuck to his face. 

“You could say that,” Aaron allows, as he unlocks the door of the garage, and steps inside. He stands back to let Robert through, then gestures to the car parked right in front of them. “So?” he asks. “What d’you think?”

Robert stops. Stares. “Is this a joke?”

The car before him is the automotive equivalent of the blind, three-legged dog that answers to the name Lucky. The close-set headlights make it look weirdly short-sighted, and its body is a confusing mix – the bulky snout-like front is too long, while the rear seems embarrassed to be there, curving itself up like a shell over the back seats. Not to mention that it’s got a dent in the front, and it's speckled with rust.

He turns back to Aaron. “Okay, very funny. Where’s the real car?”

Aaron reaches out and spreads his hand on the bonnet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is it.” Robert is half-surprised the car doesn’t fall to pieces at the pressure.

“ _This_? _This_ is the car you bought?”

“Thought of you as soon as I saw it,” Aaron says with a maddening shrug. 

“It’s a fucking _Allegro_.”

Aaron nods. “Classic, innit? Not many of them left today.”

“Yeah – because they’re _shit_.” Robert stares at him. “Don’t tell me you paid actual money for this? They should’ve been paying _you_ to take it.”

“Well, originally, yeah. But then they heard how anxious you were to get your hands on it.” Aaron adds, out of nowhere, “Nice couple.”

Robert peers in through the cracked driver’s window. “It’s got a square steering wheel!”

Aaron says helpfully, “S’an original feature that. Not all models have ‘em.”

“You expect me to _drive_ this? It’s a death trap.”

“Wrong again,” Aaron tells him. “See – it’s not got an engine, so…” he raps on the bonnet again, “it’s perfectly safe.”

“You bought me a car I can’t _drive_? _Why_ would you do that? Why would I even _want_ a car that can't fucking _go_ anywhere?”

Aaron thinks about it for a second. “Conversation piece?”

Robert stares at him, a swirling mix of frustration and disbelief in his chest. “And just how much d’you expect me to pay for this – thing?”

“Ten thousand,” Aaron says. He doesn’t bat an eye.

“Ten th-you paid _ten thousand_ for this heap of junk? No way. I’m not doing it.” He shakes his head.

“Actually – I paid eight hundred for it. But…I did mention that there was a finder’s fee, right?”

“You expect me to give you _nine thousand pounds_ for finding me a car I can’t even drive?”

Aaron looks at him, deliberately blank. “Cash, card or cheque?” he says, and holds out his hand, palm up.

Robert walks around the piece of shit imperfectly disguising itself as a vehicle. Even if it were in peak condition, it would be ludicrously ugly. It’s a fuck-you on four wheels. The kind of thing he’d like to present to Lawrence. _Thought of you as soon as I saw it. Try not to die whenever you take a corner._ An idea begins to itch at the back of his brain. He’d never actually give it to Lawrence, obviously…this thing with Chrissie’ll be cleared up long before then – but. A car as shitty as this _does_ present one interesting possibility a fully functional, lovingly cared for classic wouldn’t.

“Cheque,” he decides, and Aaron’s mouth falls open a bit. “You what?” he says. 

“Ten thousand, yeah?” Robert says.

Aaron’s staring at him, a frown on his face. “You’re seriously gonna pay me for this?” Robert has to fight the urge to smile at how bad Aaron is at bluffing. 

“Of course. I gave you the go-ahead, and I never set a fixed price,” he lets his mouth pull into a rueful expression. “My own fault, but – I’m a man of my word.”

“Right,” Aaron says, still clearly nonplussed, but trying to maintain his stoic exterior. “Your money, if you wanna throw it away. You can make the cheque out to” –

“ _But_ ,” Robert interrupts, and Aaron tenses up. “I want it running.”

“What?”

“The car. I want it running. Don’t think that’s too much to ask – it is a _car_ , after all. Sort of a minimum requirement, really.” 

“You want to actually _drive_ it? D’you have any idea of the amount of work involved in that?” Aaron demands. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve got some idea. Body panels will need replacing, because of the rust...a few original parts probably need tracking down, and, oh yeah, I’m gonna need _an engine_ to make the thing go.”

“It’s not worth it,” Aaron says.

Robert shrugs. “I’m not the one who chose it.” Says, offhand, “Tell you what – I’ll even help.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow, flick suspiciously over his face. “You want to help me fix this car?”

“You mightn’t know it, but – I used to be a mechanic myself,” Robert says. “I used to work here, as a matter of fact.” He pauses, leaving space for questions that Aaron doesn’t seem inclined to ask. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “And Vic’s been banging on about me having some kind of project. I’d say restoring this thing certainly counts, wouldn’t you?”

Aaron shakes his head, says, again, “It’s not worth it.”

“I think it is,” Robert returns promptly. “And – I am the client. It’s my money. Shouldn’t you be humouring me?”

Aaron’s still shaking his head.

“Or were you lying when you said it wasn’t a big deal, working with me? I mean,” his eyes glide over Aaron’s face, “since nothing’s gonna happen anyway – according to you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Aaron bites out.

“Well then?” Robert says, and holds out his hand.

Aaron stares down at it for a moment. “You’re on.” His face sets into a hard, determined look before he finally shakes Robert’s hand, the pressure around his fingers definite – but so fleeting Robert could almost have imagined it.

He hasn’t though.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tech did not seem likewise affected, frowning down at the ink-stain on her pocket with more interest than she regarded Robert. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK - I kind of half wanted to end this at a different point...might need to come back to it and see how I feel in a day or two.

The Woolpack. He was in The Woolpack, everyone around him discussing Katie’s funeral service, a half-empty pint in his hand and his heart bursting in his chest. He let the glass drop – a distant smash that he barely heard over the pounding in his ears, and that no-one else seemed to register – and wheeled around, head whipping from side to side.

_Aaron. Where was Aaron?_ He had to be here – he couldn’t _not_ be here…it wasn’t possible, it wouldn’t make any _sense_ …but the panic was thick in his throat, and even as his eyes searched, he couldn’t seem to make them _focus_.

Until finally, _finally_ , a dark-haired figure moved in the corner of his vision and wrenched itself into familiarity. 

Robert just stared for a second at Aaron – whole, alive, unbroken – as Diane finished a conversation he hadn’t been participating in by advising him, “…five minutes – I think he needs some space.”

His feet were already stumbling across the floor. “Aaron.”

“I’ve got nothing more to say to you,” he said, as if seconds ago he hadn’t tried walking on _fucking_ air.

“Oh yeah? Well I’ve got something to say to _you_ , after that stunt you just tried to pull.” Robert curled his still-numb fingers on Aaron’s shoulders. “What the _hell_ did you think you were playing at?”

He attempted to shove him away. Aaron had the gall to look _taken aback_ at his reaction, before glancing to the side, pointing out, “You’re not exactly being inconspicuous right now.”

Robert pushed him again – harder this time. “Do I look like I give a shit?” The low hum of conversation remained steady. “But by all means – if you’re so concerned about _making a scene_ , lead the way.” He held his hand out toward the door, then pulled it back and clenched it into a fist at his side, trying to get rid of the shake in his fingers.

As Aaron turned to leave the pub, Robert stuck close behind him, toes clipping the heels of Aaron’s shoes, and he couldn’t stop himself from placing a palm in the centre of Aaron’s back to shove him through the door and into the open air. 

Aaron swung round, snarled, “Stop it,” at him.

“Make me,” Robert said, already reaching out again. The relief he felt was violent. He needed to put his hands on Aaron. He wanted to _rip him apart_. It had been snowing earlier, but a wave of heat shuddered over him, sweat breaking out on his forehead, itching under his arms. He thought he might vomit. 

“I don’t see what you’re so upset about,” Aaron said, side-stepping to avoid another jerky shove.

“ _You don’t_ ” – Robert had to swallow. “No. Of course not. It’s not like we were just stood at that quarry trying to stop my brother _from topping himself_ – when you decided…what? To see what all the _fuss_ was about?”

Aaron shrugged. “We wondered if we could change things. Now we know.” He glanced around at their surroundings with disinterest.

“Oh yeah – you hurled yourself off the edge of a quarry for _science_ , did you?” Robert shook his head, which only added to his nausea. _We_. Like Robert had been stood there taking notes. “Fuck – you really are messed up beyond all belief!”

“Can’t deny it would’ve saved you a job if it worked,” Aaron pointed out.

“Don’t you _dare_ ” – Robert began. He had to stop. “Do you have any idea how it _felt_ to watch you just” – he stopped again. He could feel himself pulling air into his lungs, but it didn’t feel like it was working. “Don’t you ever – _ever_ – do anything like that again.”

Aaron shook his head, said nothing.

“I _mean_ it, Aaron,” Robert insisted. His fingers twisted in the lapels of Aaron’s suit jacket, pulled him closer. “Swear to me.”

“Or what? Give it an hour, and you won’t even remember what happened.”

“So that gives you the right to punish me, is that it?”

Aaron’s face changed, scrunched up in confusion. “Punish you? What are you talkin’ about? The whole _point_ of tonight is for you to get shot of me!”

“And poor tragic little messed up Aaron just couldn’t wait to help me out with that, right? Well – _don’t_.” One hand fisting Aaron’s suit jacket so hard it practically creaked, he slapped at Aaron’s chest with the other. “I don’t need that kind of _help_ from you.”

“Yeah – cos you’ve already got it all sorted.” Aaron put his own hand over Robert’s – squeezed hard as he attempted to prise Robert’s fingers loose. “How’s what I did any different than what _you’re_ doing, in the end?” 

Robert just latched on, gripping Aaron’s hand so hard it was painful – he could feel the bones under his fingers grinding together. “Well for one thing, I’m pretty certain that in my version, you don’t end up broken in bits at the bottom of a quarry. And unlike you, I’m _fine_ with that.” He ducked his head, tried to force Aaron to meet his eyes. “What you don’t realise is, it’s not just _you_ that you’re hurting. Don’t you _get it_? I” – 

Robert’s voice stopped in his throat when the church bell began to peal, steady and sombre – his fingers loosening as he saw a hearse slowly making its way toward them. Aaron pulled free as Andy and Adam and Paddy appeared, and took their places. Robert braced himself as the coffin – _Katie’s_ coffin – slid out, and they raised it onto their shoulders. The sound of their feet on the ground seemed loud as they turned and began to shuffle forward. Toward the church, Robert supposed – though when he looked, it was Wylie’s Farm that loomed ahead.

“Aaron,” he said, speaking through the cotton wool his mouth seemed to be full of. “This isn’t _done_ – we’ve got to talk about this. _Aaron_.”

He twisted his head round as best he could – and suddenly the weight disappeared from his shoulders.

They were standing in the kitchen of Home Farm, but not – it was darker, hardly any light coming through the barred up windows. The pristine walls bled into dirty bareness in the corners, and the floor was a chaotic mix of clean tile and dust covered wooden boards. He swallowed. “Listen – I’m begging you…let’s just talk.”

“No. We’re done talking,” Aaron said as Chrissie entered and breezed right past him, a dry-cleaned suit in her hands which she handed to Robert. “Here you are,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Uh – yeah. Thanks,” he said, as Aaron glanced between them, shook his head, and made for the door. “Aaron, wait” –

He didn’t.

“Are you sure?” Chrissie was still, Robert realised, wearing her wedding dress. “Yeah. I have to be, don’t I? For Andy.”

“But you’re not though, are you?” Diane said, coming up from behind and placing a hand on his shoulder. “And I’m here for you if you want to talk it through. Let it all out – shout, scream, whatever. I know you’re married now and what’s past is past, but if there’s anything more to it – get it off your chest. There’s nothing you can say that’ll shock me.”

“And if I tell you the truth?” Robert asked. He stared ahead, resolutely, as he finished, “That she’s dead because of me?”

To his surprise, the pressure of the hand on his shoulder remained. He turned round, “Diane - ?”

But it was Lawrence who looked back at him. “– I thought a few tentative words from his brother…”

“Yeah - I’ll sensitively ask Andy if he’s ready to make any major decisions about the house he was going to live in with the love of his life – who _just died_. Because god forbid we keep _you_ in limbo, Lawrence.”

Lawrence nodded and smiled, then used the hand on Robert’s shoulder to propel him forward – Robert stumbled forward a step, two, where Andy was crouched on the floor of what was now indisputably Wylie’s Farm. 

“This is where I found her,” Andy said, looking up at him. He held Katie’s body in his arms.

“Oh god.” The words crawled up Robert’s throat. “We should go.”

“I didn’t want to believe it.” He stroked her hair with the backs of his fingers. “I mean…everything she meant to me…I just knew. I knew it was over. That I’d lost her, after everything.” He touched his hand to her cheek.

“Andy, it’s not good for you being here,” Robert managed. Katie could have been asleep – except that her eyes were still open. He tried to fix his gaze at the wall behind his brother.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Andy – _please_ …we have to get out of here. It’s not – I can’t…it was an accident, I” – he stopped. Swallowed. “I never meant for it to end up like _this_. You have to believe me.”

Disco lights began to flicker over the floor and walls – blue, green, red, orange – sliding over Andy’s face as he looked up at him. The thump of music pounded through the - the floorboards. 

“What d’you reckon she looked like?” Lachlan asked, standing there in his wedding suit and holding up his phone to better film the spectacle in front of him.

Robert struck out blindly with his hand, unable to take his eyes off Andy – but failed to make contact. “Piss off, you poisonous little psycho,” he choked out. 

As he obliged, Lachlan tossed a, “Yeah, but – a fall like that can’t have been pretty,” over his shoulder.

Andy continued, oblivious. “I left her a message saying-saying that I was sorry, and that I loved her. What if she didn’t listen to it? What if she was there, dying, thinking that she wasn’t loved?”

“Andy…please…”

A paramedic moved forward, a vague semblance of a face under red hair. “I need to take a look, Andy,” she said. 

“Please – let her go,” Robert told him, and finally, agonisingly – he did. Robert had to turn back while the yellow-jacketed team got to work. Though that was little enough comfort, because Chas Dingle and Paddy Kirk stood in the corner, sending a combination of narrow-eyed and slightly gormless judgment his way.

“Katie was on to you all along, and you made us think she was crazy,” Chas said, eyes like knives. Given the surroundings, it made something in Robert’s stomach flinch. Meanwhile Paddy stumbled through what sounded like the introduction to Sexuality for Dummies before ending on the surprisingly strong note, “– I will _not_ have you breaking Aaron’s heart.”

“Yeah, well, funnily enough, that was never the plan,” he said. “I never meant to hurt anyone – least of all Aaron.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the paramedics carrying Katie’s body out on a stretcher. Andy’s sobs caught on his ears.

“Then end it. For good,” Chas told him.

Outside, he leaned against the wall, the rough stone keeping him upright, while Aaron said, “I – I can’t do this on my own.”

“Okay,” Robert said. “You don’t have to. I’m right here.”

Aaron looked at him. “Can’t you even tell the truth inside your own head? Because I seem to remember it going more like – _Have you any idea how much I stand to lose?_ And – _We have to cool things off for a while_. Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah – and that’s exactly what I _said_ …cool things off, not call them off completely. I wasn’t gonna leave you to deal with this all on your own.”

“No,” Aaron agreed. “Just to clean up the crime scene.”

“It wasn’t a _crime_. It was an accident.”

“Yeah. Except we’re not acting like it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it _was_.”

Aaron shook his head, dismissing this. Dismissing Robert. “You go. Get married.”

“No – I’m not leaving you here.”

“Just _go_.”

His hands were suddenly clutching the steering wheel of his car. The engine purred underneath him, and he changed gears smoothly. But every time he turned, it was to find Wylie’s Farm in front of him. It wasn’t until he saw the white flowers decorating the entrance that he realised what was about to happen. His stomach lurched as he stopped the car. He couldn’t do this. He _couldn’t_.

He found himself closing the car door, standing in front of Wylie’s on shaky feet all the same. 

“About flippin’ time,” Victoria called, striding toward him with Leyla and Andy, who said, “We’ve been ringing you.”

“I know,” he said, gaze straying to the worn building behind them. His throat was dry. Tight. “The stupid car – there’s something wrong with it. I keep – ending up back here.”

“Can we please just get inside the church?!” Leyla asked.

His lungs weren’t working. “Two minutes, alright?” In a blur of red and leopard print, the girls ducked into the darkness of Wylie’s Farm. Robert watched them. Wondered whether inside he would find the familiar trappings of St. Mary’s – pews, aisle, altar…or smashed glass and broken floorboards. 

Though he already knew.

“Last chance to back out,” Andy told him.

“Too late for that,” Robert said.

“You sure?”

Robert looked at him. “Katie’s in there, Andy. She’s dead.” The words ground out – though he didn’t know if that was due to the fear that it would make a difference…

…or the near-certainty that it wouldn’t. 

“I pushed her, and – and the floorboards just _went_. She’s lying on the ground in there and if I go in…” he took a breath that burned his throat. “If I go _in_ …I’ll have to marry Chrissie over her dead body.”

He waited.

“Then enjoy it,” Andy told him – because it really was too late.

*****

She neatly sidestepped the bigger pieces of rubble, but the bottom of Chrissie’s dress caught on the debris on the floor, creating a dragging tinkle of broken glass as she made her way up what was passing for an aisle. It sent a shudder down the back of Robert’s neck. He faced forward, toward Ashley, who stood, white vestment almost brushing Katie’s forehead. Robert was at the right side of her body, angled as far away from her as he could without making contact with Andy, who stood placidly at his shoulder and never once looked down.

Chrissie finally finished her journey, taking her place on the other side of Katie’s body. It meant they couldn’t stand quite next to each other, creating a distance between them that she didn’t seem to notice. And as Ashley began to speak, Robert tried very hard to keep his eyes on her. She looked so beautiful – so _clean_ in the middle of this dirty, awful place…and she’d decided he was good enough, hadn’t she? She could be his anchor. His rock.

She could get him through this.

His eyes slid downward, met Katie’s, and he stopped in the middle of his vows. “For richer, for” –

He swallowed. Took a breath. Forced himself to look at Chrissie again. “For poorer, in sick – in sickness” –

He found himself staring at Katie’s hair, the way her head fell to the side. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do this. Not here. Not in front of her.” 

He gestured at Katie, but Chrissie smiled at him, and her eyes remained on his, expectant. “Please,” his voice shook. “I don’t want” – _to do this_. 

_I don’t want to do this._

He didn’t want to do _any_ of this. The realisation hit like a shock from an electric fence, whiting out his vision for a moment. He pulled in a sharp breath. “Chrissie…Chrissie please. Just _look_.”

She didn’t, just stood waiting for Robert to say the scripted words and _end it_ …but he couldn’t. He stared at her, then wrenched his head around to Andy, who gave him the same appropriately encouraging expression. The wedding vows refused to come – built up in his throat and lodged there like a bone. He really _couldn’t_ do this.

There was a bang from the back of the building, heralding Aaron’s entrance. Robert stared at him and the words ripped free, a painful kind of release, “To love and to cherish, till” –

“Death,” Ashley reminded him.

“– death us do part.”

He looked down – Katie’s body had disappeared. Up – to find everyone else gone. Everyone except Aaron, who stood by the boarded up window at the back of the room.

Robert stayed where he was, his feet weighted to the floor, until finally, Aaron turned around – and then he found himself striding across the space, until he was in front of Aaron, reaching out to touch his face with hands that felt like they’d been magnetised.

Aaron knocked them back before they made contact. “Don’t,” he said.

Robert tried again, attempting to catch hold of any part of Aaron he could – his arm, his neck. “Aaron – please” –

“ _No_.” Aaron’s hands kept pulling at his, lifting them, pushing them away – bracketing Robert’s wrists like handcuffs to keep them from touching him. “We do this properly from now on.” 

Robert looked at him, his tense, unhappy face. “I don’t really think there’s a hard and fast rule for what to do when your memories are being erased.” Slowly, he stretched out a forefinger, let it ease against the back of Aaron’s hand – a thread of connection. 

“Yeah, well – there is now,” Aaron said, stolid. He thrust Robert’s hands back against his body, released his grip. “So let’s get to it, yeah?”

Robert shook his head. “I need” – _you_ – “to talk to you.” He kept his eyes focused on Aaron’s, trying to communicate just how serious he was. His feet kept inching forward, encroaching into Aaron’s space in agonisingly hopeful millimetres. “For real.”

“Don’t you get it? I _can’t_ ,” Aaron told him, using the same low, tight voice. “I can’t do this, Robert. I can’t play this game anymore.”

“It’s not a game.”

Aaron looked away, stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, pressing his lips together. Finally he said, throwing the words down like a slap, “Please don’t get married.”

They echoed, too loud in the dusty, empty space. “All right,” Robert said, quiet.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Aaron gritted out. “You say that stood there in your wedding suit.”

_By the book_ , Robert thought. _Well – you asked for it._ “Why are you so determined to make this harder than it needs to be?”

Aaron’s eyes jerked away from his. He stared down and off to the side as he said, “Because I love you. That’s why. And I think you feel the same.”

He still wasn’t ready for it, denial jerking through him like a fish on a hook. But this was _it_ – Aaron wasn’t going to say it again, and he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. They were running out of chances. And so Robert forced the panic down, looked at the line of Aaron’s neck, his dark hair, the curve of his cheek. His toes gripped tight inside his shoes, as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Or a quarry. 

“…I do,” he said. “I love you.”

Aaron’s gaze snapped back to him. He didn’t say anything, but Robert could see the slight motion of his head as he shook it, becoming more pronounced as the surprise wore off.

“You were right,” Robert told him and half-shrugged. “Guess this means you get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“That didn’t happen. You never said that.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true, though.”

“ _This isn’t a love story_ ,” Aaron said, flinging the words back in his face. “Remember?”

“I waited for you.”

“What?” Aaron scrubbed his hands over his face, clearly unreceptive, but Robert persisted. “The barn. I waited for you. Even after it became painfully obvious you weren’t gonna show up.”

“And what? Am I supposed to say sorry for giving you the runaround? Like you’ve never left _me_ hangin’.”

“You told me to stay away from you – threatened to break my nose, if I remember right…and I talked Chrissie into cancelling the sale of this place. _We could think of it as ours_ ,” he reminded Aaron, who looked away.

“Right. And?”

“ _And_? Aaron – I’m supposed to be getting married today. To a beautiful, successful, amazing woman, who gives me everything I could ever want. Money, security, family…I mean – it doesn’t _get_ any better than Chrissie. Trust me, I know. But – here I am. With you.”

“Except I’m not the first – and I probably won’t be the last,” Aaron said, turning over his words like stones, relentlessly focused on the negative. “Don’t worry – when all this is over, I’m sure you’ll find some other poor sap to cheat on Chrissie with.”

“He won’t be _you_.” Robert shook his head – that hadn’t come out the way he’d meant. “Look, I should be saying it right now – _It’s over_. But remember what you tell me? Go on – say it.”

Aaron cast his eyes upwards, but repeated it anyway. “You don’t mean that.”

“And I don’t answer you. Because I _can’t_. I can’t stay away from you. Because you’re right. I love you.”

Aaron pressed his lips together. “Yeah, well – like I said, give it an hour. You’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry - is that what you need to hear?” Robert almost demanded. “Because I am. I just – I panicked. I made a mistake, and I screwed this up...like I screw everything up, in the end. And I’m _sorry_.”

It sounded like Aaron’s lungs were too tired to hold the air in as he released a breath. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Robert kept chasing Aaron’s eyes, trying to pin him down. “D’you need me to prove it? Because I can. The woman who’s doing this – something-Owens, blonde, complete opposite of a bedside manner” –

“What are you telling me this for?”

“Just wait.” Robert squeezed his eyes shut, and pictured her, as clear as he could. Dug his nails into his palms because this _had_ to work. Took a breath and opened his eyes.

“What the” – Aaron said, blinking at the white-coated woman now stood in their midst.

The tech did not seem likewise affected, frowning down at the ink-stain on her pocket with more interest than she regarded Robert. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Robert said. “We need to talk.”

She made a face. “Do we have to? Only – I’m sort of busy up there,” she pointed her index finger toward the ceiling of Wylie’s Farm. At Robert’s expression, she sighed and said, “Fine. Suppose I can give you a few minutes.”

She turned to Aaron and held out a hand. “I’m the lead technician on _his_ case. Something Owens.” She paused, turned back to Robert. “ _Something_ Owens? Well, I certainly made an impression on you. Of course, it could just be the memory loss talking…”

Aaron just stared down at her hand.

“Can we just get on with it?” Robert asked. “This is” –

“Aaron, I presume,” the tech finished. She looked him up and down in frank and unprofessional appraisal. “I’ve heard good things.”

“What’s going on?” Aaron asked Robert. “What’ve you brought her here for?”

“Because,” Robert said. “I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t – I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He turned to the tech and said, “I want to call it off.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And then,” Aaron finishes with a heavy kind of satisfaction, “There was the _porn_ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man...I don't know, I thought this chapter would NEVER be finished. I got deeply and sincerely stuck roundabout at the Diane bit and ended up rewriting a bunch of times so it ended up nothing like it was originally (sorry, sugsy-on-tumblr if you read this - I sent you an incomprehensible ask about this, and it ended up being totally irrelevant!). A bit apprehensive about this one - I want it to be better than it is.
> 
> (Also, sorry, long note - but I have to say that I have been just blown away by how many people have commented, and invested the time in my longass story. This is just such a fantastic fandom to write in - thank you so so much!!)
> 
> (ALSO ALSO I hope there is no-one reading for the car-restoration. Because ahahahaha... Though I sincerely thank that dude who left behind an online build diary for an Allegro Estate. You sir, have taught me things I do not and will never understand)

And then Aaron goes AWOL. Just disappears, without a word of warning…well, not to Robert, anyway. He gets to pick it up from the conversational crumbs Adam and Vic are scattering as he enters the kitchen on Sunday morning.

“– a couple of days?” Vic says, glancing up at Robert and giving him a distracted smile as he fills the kettle and flicks the switch.

“Yeah. Probably two – three at most. He said he’d see when he gets there,” Adam says, and even though his voice is light, downplaying it, Robert gets the feeling that’s more for Vic’s benefit than a reflection of his own feelings.

Vic obviously thinks so too, because she doesn’t drop it. “Last night though…it’s a bit short notice.”

“Yeah well, it’s his mate’s birthday do, isn’t it? Twenty-fifth or something.”

“Right – and he couldn’t have told you about that a week ago?”

“It’s not like he was planning it or anything,” Adam tells her. “He only decided to go last night. Before that he was definitely gonna give it a miss.”

“So…we should be happy he’s leaving you in the lurch on a whim, then?” Vic says, making a face.

Robert leans up against the sink. “Hang on – is this Aaron you’re talking about?”

Adam flicks a glance and a, “Yeah,” his way, before returning to Vic. “Maybe he just needs a break. And it’s not like I can begrudge him that, is it?”

Vic sighs, deflating somewhat. “Suppose not. Though – he really knows how to pick his times, doesn’t he? You’ve got all those pickups this week.”

“Where’s he going?” Robert asks. 

“Oh, only off celebrating his mate’s birthday,” Vic tells him, though it seems aimed more at Adam. “Which is gonna take a couple of days. Non-stop party, apparently.”

“Vic – come on,” Adam says, cajoling.

As she gets to her feet, she says, “All right, all right – I won’t say anything else about it.” She mimes zipping her lips. “ _But_ …this means that _you_ don’t get to complain this week either. So if you’ve got any thoughts about being tired or overworked or whatever – you can keep them to yourself.”

“Supportive,” Adam notes.

“Er – more like protecting my own interests,” Vic says. “Love you loads and all, but the ins and outs of the scrap business don’t exactly make for gripping conversation.” She sticks out her hand, and says, “So…have we got a deal?”

Adam takes her hand, but only to pull her down close enough to kiss. “Well then, you’d better find something better for me to do than complain, hadn’t ya?”

“What, like ironing, or scrubbing the bathroom?” Vic asks, full of teasing warmth. “Think I could manage that.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Adam says.

She pretends to consider it. “Tell you what – you give me a hand changing our sheets…and I just might be in the mood to take some suggestions. Sound good?”

“That’s a bit more like it,” Adam approves, stealing another kiss, and Robert feels the need to remind them, “Still in the room.”

“Like we could forget,” Adam says. He releases Vic and tells her, “I’ll be there in a second – so don’t you start strippin’ without me. The bed, I mean.”

The sounds of Victoria’s feet fade upstairs, as Robert grimaces. Hearing his little sister being sexually propositioned is one of his least favourite ways to start the day.

“Thanks – I really needed that,” he says. 

“Ey – you were the one who told me I needed to start appreciating Vic more.” Adam swills the remainder of his tea, then gets to his feet, ready to deposit his empty mug in the sink.

“Just goes to show I need to start being more careful what I wish for.” As Robert shifts out of his way, he casually folds his arms over his chest and says, “So – Aaron’s not gonna be around for a while?”

Adam looks pointedly between Robert and the kitchen table. “You know, I could’ve sworn you were here two minutes ago, when me and Vic were talking about it.” The edge of annoyance is back in his voice, more distinct than before, and Robert thinks that, underneath the cheerful front he’s putting up for Victoria, Adam’s more than a little pissed off about Aaron’s sudden defection himself. But he shakes his head, and adds in a softer tone, like he’s trying to let it go, “Yeah. Off to a mate in London – like I said.”

“Who?”

Adam frowns at him. “Er…how would I know? I don’t like – keep records or anything.” Before he exits the kitchen, he nods at the kettle and tells Robert, “That boiled ages ago, by the way.”

*****

Eventually he sends a text. _Enjoy the party._

And, almost immediately afterwards – _And thanks for letting me know you’re out of town_.

*****

The next day, Aaron still hasn’t replied to either text, and Robert takes a mean pleasure in sending, way too early – _Take it you had a good night then._

A few hours later – _Do you always skip out on paying clients?_

Right after that – _Interesting business model._

And later still – _Are you even getting these?_

*****

Tuesday, he stops. If Aaron wants to crawl off to London and sulk with some mysterious mate of his, all because Robert got one over on him…well, that’s up to him. He’s got to come back sometime – and when he does, he’ll _have_ to talk to Robert. 

Besides, considering the four wheeled travesty currently mouldering in _Dingle and Dingle Automotives_ , it was more of a mutual ‘getting one over’, so…

So everything’s fine, really, except that later that day, Vic suddenly reaches across the bar and plucks his mobile out of his hands. 

“What” – he begins, but she says, “Okay – new rule. Call her, or don’t call her…I don’t even care anymore, but I can’t take another minute of you ignoring me so that you can have a staring contest with your phone. It’s not good for you.”

“All right, point taken,” Robert says, and holds out his hand. He raises his eyebrows when she makes no move to return his mobile. 

“You know, if you’re that hard up for something to do, you could always go down to the scrapyard and help Adam.”

Yeah… _that’s_ not happening. “He seemed like he had everything under control this morning.”

“Really? Was that before or after he had to leg it out the door because he was already late?”

Robert returns to the more pressing issue at hand. “Can I have my phone back now?”

“ _You_ have got a serious problem, you know,” Vic informs him, a strong and less than endearing streak of know-it-all in her voice.

“Yeah. My little sister won’t give me back my phone.”

“Of course I will,” she says, then, challenging, “ _If_ you can tell me what the last thing I said to you was.” 

“Easy,” he says. “You said I could have my phone back if I could tell you the last thing you said to me.” He curls his out-held fingers slightly, in a clear demand.

She rolls her eyes but obliges, dropping the mobile into his palm, though not before she threatens, “I don’t even care if it’s collecting facts off the back of crisp packets – we are getting you a hobby.”

*****

Tuesday night, the lights are off in the sitting room, and it’s just him and Andy watching _Grand Designs_. Robert taps his mobile against the armrest of his chair, while Andy stares at the flickering TV, a preoccupied frown on his face. On the screen in front of them, Kevin McCloud pontificates on the art of self-building in the city.

“You thinking of relocating then?” Robert asks, more to make conversation than anything – though even the thought has him suppressing a smile. Imagining Andy plopped down somewhere urban is bizarre – he’s a country boy. _Jack Sugden’s son_ , through and through…and just like that, smiling’s no longer a problem for Robert.

Unaware, Andy looks at him. “Nah,” he says with a shake of his head. “Reckon I’ll stay where I am.” In a different voice, he adds, “Besides” – before hesitating.

“Go on,” Robert tells him, because even in that one word, he can sense it – that Andy’s engaged in a way that he wasn’t before. 

“I was just gonna say that – Katie wouldn’t like it.”

“Probably not,” Robert agrees, though there’s an uneasy twist in his chest at Andy’s phrasing. Still – he did promise he’d listen. 

“Can’t imagine her living anywhere she couldn’t ride,” Andy says, smile slipping through the words. “She’d be proper fed up if I took her somewhere without horses.” His eyes flick over to Robert’s face, and he frowns at whatever he sees there. Tells him, “You don’t have to worry, I’ve not gone daft. I do know she’s dead. Just…” He shrugs.

“You were going to spend your lives together,” Robert finishes, relieved. “It’s natural that you’d still…think of how things would affect her.”

“Yeah. I do,” Andy says. The washed out light from the screen plays over his face, brighter, then darker as the scene shifts. “I know it doesn’t make any difference now but – I do. With everything. Anything. Doesn’t matter what, I just find myself thinking about what she’d want, the kind of things she’d say to me. Can’t help myself.”

Robert doesn’t doubt for a second that Andy believes it, but that doesn’t make it _true_. Because either Andy’s never once stopped to think what Katie might make of his grieving process, or his version of Katie has an enormous blind spot when it comes to that particular subject. Robert can’t imagine the girl he remembers having much patience with Andy’s sackcloth-and-ashes routine.

But it’s not like things went so well the last time Robert pointed that out. Besides, the rightness or wrongness of Andy’s stance ultimately pales next to the fact that he’s – reaching out. 

To Robert.

Andy’s eyes stray back to the telly, where a couple are building two small houses across a courtyard. “That would’ve been us, you know,” he says. “Renovations, building.” He looks at Robert. “A proper farm of our own – that’s what we wanted.” He shakes his head. “We both wanted it so much. Too much, probably.”

“What d’you mean?” Robert asks.

Instead of answering, Andy says, “You know, sometimes I wish we’d not done it. Got married.” He doesn’t give Robert time to say anything, doggedly pursuing the thought to its bleak conclusion, “If we’d not been married, there would have been no reason for her to be up there. And she would never have fallen through those floorboards.”

Robert finds himself taking a deep breath that feels like it’s bruising his lungs on the way down. He doesn’t know the details. He really doesn’t _want_ to know the details. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to listen to _Andy_ giving him the details in that flat, hopeless voice. 

Which means that, even if it’s the right thing, it’s also partly his own sense of self-preservation that makes him say, “You can’t do that, Andy, you can’t – torture yourself with how things might have been.”

“See – it wouldn’t have mattered,” Andy says, as if he hasn’t even heard Robert. “That’s what kills me. I mean, yeah, the day I married her was the happiest of my life, but – it wouldn’t have _mattered_. I’d’ve loved her all the same even if we’d never got back together. We could both have married other people even…it wouldn’t have changed what we were to each other.”

Robert takes this in, considers it. “So you’d have been fine spending your whole life just pining after her? What – like some kind of trade off or something?”

“S’what I’m doing now, isn’t it?” Andy tells him. “At least that way, she’d still be alive.”

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe she’d have died in a car accident a month later.” Robert says, allowing some of his exasperation to come through at Andy’s wounded look. Yeah, alright, he promised he’d listen…but he never promised he’d _agree_. Not to mention, this odd alternative reality Andy’s dreamed up where nothing ever went wrong is far crueller than anything Robert could possibly come up with. “You can’t _know_ , Andy. And chances are, even if it had turned out exactly the way you think…you still wouldn’t have been happy. Yeah, it’s all very noble, this loving Katie from afar idea, but – it wouldn’t work in real life.”

“Just because _you’ve_ never been able to leave well enough alone” –

“No,” Robert says firmly, “because if you want someone, you _want_ them. You want to get close to them, to be part of their life. And that doesn’t just go away, no matter how much you tell yourself it should. Can you really tell me you’d have been satisfied staying on the outside of Katie’s life forever? Honestly?”

Andy looks away, but doesn’t answer, and Robert presses his advantage. “And even if _you_ were okay with it, I doubt Katie would’ve been. Come on – you just told me she’d kick up if you chose somewhere to _live_ that she didn’t agree with. You seriously expect me to think she’d’ve been fine with you keeping your distance and never making a move? You said the day you married her was the happiest day of your life…well, you weren’t the only one standing up there, you know. I’m assuming _Katie_ had some feelings about it as well.”

Slowly, Andy says, “She said once that us getting back together was the best thing that’d ever happened.” 

“See? So, why would you want to do that? Take away the best thing that ever happened to her?” Katie’s words are clear-cut and unequivocal, as far as Robert can see – no room for misinterpretation. But Andy closes his eyes, throat working like he’s trying to swallow broken glass.

“Andy? What’s wrong?” It seems like such a comfortless fantasy, built entirely on mistakes and should-have-beens – his opposition to it is gut-driven, instinctive. But what does Robert know about it? Maybe trying to dismantle the ideal, exacting world Andy has constructed is entirely the wrong thing to do.

“I’m alright,” Andy says, in a voice that’s really not. “Thanks for”- he has to stop and swallow again. “Thanks, Rob. Really. I just – I don’t think I can talk about it anymore tonight.”

He turns up the volume, feigning interest in McCloud’s take on the challenges of limited space and storage. He furtively swipes a hand across his cheeks once or twice, but neither he nor Robert say anything more about it.

*****

Yeah, all right, there’s definitely a mate, and a twenty-fifth. But Robert would bet that that’s just an excuse – since it’s a bit of a coincidence that Aaron went off the grid just hours after their agreement in the garage. Sure, it's arrogant. Doesn't mean it's not accurate.

And when Robert remembers it – setting down ten thousand for a car he very plainly hates, Aaron’s clearly bogus statement that working with him would be no big deal…come on, it’s _obvious_. 

And the longer Aaron stays away, the more it feels like a tease, drawing out the inevitable. Because he has to come back, eventually, and when he does – it’ll still be there. The garage, the car, him and Robert, their deal…

…which really isn’t even about the Allegro, or the money. Yeah, the mate and the birthday aren’t the only pretexts here, and Aaron can only avoid it for so long.

Robert stretches out – as much as he can in the confines of a single bed, anyway, and lets it play out behind his closed eyes. Late, the lights low in the garage, him and Aaron, the Allegro a vague suggestion in the background. He takes a breath in through his nose, almost smelling the grease and gasoline as he feels again the swift squeeze of Aaron’s fingers against his – and translates that to how Aaron’s hand would feel wrapped around his cock.

*****

The morning after, and Adam’s resting his forehead on the kitchen table when his mobile chirps. He groans and barely lifts his head as he brings the phone to his face, but then abruptly straightens. “Yesss. _Finally_.”

Well – good to know Aaron’s not blanking _everyone_. Just the people who are paying him way over the odds for a vehicle that fails at _motion_. 

Robert swallows a too-hot sip of coffee and starts counting to three – but it turns out he doesn’t need to toss out a carefully disinterested question, because Vic immediately swoops in with, “So when’s Aaron back?”

“This evening – back on duty tomorrow. About flippin’ time, too.”

“Not that you’re _complaining_ , or anything,” Vic says.

Adam places a hand over his chest. “Babe. You know me better’n that.” 

Vic scrunches up her nose before she offers, “I know you nearly fell asleep wearing your boots last night.”

“Yeah, well there’s no denying the scrapyard’s a two man operation, is there?” He raises his finger at Victoria’s look, “And that’s not a _complaint_ , it’s a _fact_.”

“Funny, that sounds really familiar…almost like something I might have said once or twice before.”

“Yeah, well, maybe _I’m_ not the one who needs telling.” He gets to his feet and pecks Vic on the cheek before heading out the door. 

She watches him go, then aims a small grin and eyeroll at Robert. “Yeah, he talks tough, but just wait until he actually sees Aaron. Mark my words, the minute they set eyes on each other they’ll be wagging their tails and licking each other’s faces.”

Robert puts down his coffee. “Thanks for that visual.”

*****

But for all Vic’s predictions, Adam doesn’t seem inclined to go for walkies to The Woolpack that evening, instead sprawling out on the sofa, head tipped back and eyes closed.

So Robert goes on his own instead.

“Hello, love – what can I get you?” Diane asks when she sees him, and he takes aim with a special smile – confident, but not cocky…a little self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t say no to some company, if you’re offering.” He puts his elbows on the bar counter and leans in. “Actually, I’m looking for a bit of advice.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she says, right on cue, “In that case, I’m all ears – come on through.”

Inside the living room though, while she does her best, arming them both with steaming mugs and gesturing him toward the sofa, she seems at a bit of a loss. 

Sometimes, Robert can sense this split second of hesitation when Diane interacts with him, turning her natural warmth and kindness into something more deliberate. Not false or calculated, exactly, more like she’s trying to will them into an intimacy that isn’t entirely there. It probably comes down to the eleven years he’s been absent from Emmerdale. 

Or maybe Robert himself is the stumbling block.

He takes a sip of tea, and Diane prompts, “So – this advice you’re after…”

“Yeah, it’s not for me – it’s about Andy,” Robert immediately clarifies. 

“Ah,” she says. He can’t read her expression. She could be disappointed…but then again, she could just as easily be relieved at finding herself on more familiar ground. “Well, I can’t promise you I’ve got all the answers – I can’t promise you any answers at all, if I’m honest…but I’m happy to listen, if that helps?”

“It might,” Robert says. “I mean, if anyone’s got a chance of understanding what he’s going through, it’s you. Since you went through it first, with Dad.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” she says, carefully stirring her tea. When she looks up again, she smiles at Robert and says, “Well, let’s have at it then – I know you can’t tell, but I’m not getting any younger over here.”

Robert wraps both his hands around his mug, letting the warmth soak into his palms. “It’s just, I’ve been trying to help Andy. Only I’m not sure that I’m doing much good.”

She hmms in sympathy. “I don’t think any of us has the magic touch when it comes to your brother, lately.”

He looks at her, comes straight out with it. “He’s been talking about Katie.”

“With you?” Diane frowns. “Considering your history, isn’t that a bit…”

“Awkward?” he finishes. 

“Not the word I’d’ve chosen, but it’ll do.” Her eyebrows have climbed upwards again, and he says, defensive, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Oh, Robert,” she half-sighs, and shakes her head. “Story of your life, that is.”

“He wanted to talk about her – it was the only thing that seemed to get through to him. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. What _did_ you say?” she asks.

Robert takes a breath. “He started talking about the accident, and…how it never would’ve happened if he and Katie hadn’t got married” –

“Well, I hope you told him that was nonsense,” Diane interrupts.

“Of course I did. What d’you take me for?” In spite of his best efforts, his voice is a little too sharp. Yeah, Diane’s family, and she means well…but that doesn’t make her his _mum_. “I told him Katie wouldn’t have wanted that, and that deep down he _knew_ she wouldn’t.”

“And – what did Andy say to that?” 

“He agreed with me. At least – that’s how I took it, since he started talking about this time Katie’d said that getting back with him was the best thing that’d ever happened to her.”

“Well that sounds alright.”

“Only…it didn’t seem to make him feel any better. The opposite, if anything.” It’s Robert’s turn to look down at the cup of tea he’s holding on his lap. “It’s typical, isn’t it? Even when I’m trying to help, I just end up messing him up even more.”

He’s startled by the touch of Diane’s hand on his wrist. “You didn’t say the wrong thing, Robert. It’s just…” he feels her weighing him up once more with her eyes – and he wonders whether trusting him will ever become reflex for her. “It’s just, well…at the time that Katie died – her and Andy’d been having some problems.”

“Problems?” Robert frowns. “What sort of problems?”

“Oh…you know, the – the usual sort of thing.” Diane says vaguely, withdrawing her hand and placing it in her lap. “The farm – _that_ was a big part of it…they’d taken a lot on. And Katie was stressed. Not herself. They’d been arguing…and they’d not had a chance to make it up before…well. So, you can see why remembering what Katie said – even if it was something good – might bring up some mixed emotions for Andy.” She thinks about it for a second. “Maybe especially because it was something good.”

“I didn’t know. No-one said anything.” He tries not to sound aggrieved. Fails. Because whatever else has happened between them – he’s still Andy’s _brother_ , and this is _big_. So big that Robert’s lack of knowledge about it seems less like an accident, and more like a deliberate exclusion. 

“I suppose we just – didn’t think it was that important.” Diane’s eyes flit away from him, only confirming his suspicion. “Anyone could see how much they loved each other…it would’ve blown over. Andy was already talking about them making up, before he – found her.”

“Except he never got the chance, did he? And now he’s spending his time punishing himself with this weird fantasy where he stays well away from Katie, because that’s what he thinks he _deserves_. So I’d say it’s fairly important to _Andy_ , at least.”

Diane looks at him for a long moment, expression grave as she takes him in, eyes traversing his entire face. Finally, she nods, almost to herself, like she’s decided something. “Andy’ll come around. He’s gonna realise that what happened to Katie wasn’t anyone’s fault, and that what he’s doing isn’t helping anyone, least of all himself. And he’ll stop.”

“You’re sure about that? Because it doesn’t look like it so far.”

“Of course I’m sure. Because he’s finally opening up and _talking_ about it. Just give him some time, and he’ll talk himself round. He knows Katie loved him – and sooner or later, he’ll understand that that’s what matters…not words spoken in the heat of the moment.” 

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll tell him,” Diane says. Adds, a slight briskness returning to her voice, “Probably won’t be able to help yourself, knowing you.”

“Except he’s not interested in hearing it, Diane,” Robert points out.

“Then you’ll tell him _again_ ,” she says. “And again. And as many times as it takes until he’s ready to listen.” She shakes her head. “I’ve never known you to be shy about using your words, Robert – don’t tell me you’re about to start now.”

And that appears to be that, as far as Diane’s concerned. And, without Robert quite realising how, his half-finished tea’s gone cold, because she’s got a photo album out, and she’s tugging him reluctantly down memory lane. She turns the pages, transported back in time, and pauses at a photograph of herself and Jack, from their wedding. 

Her fingers hover over the glossy picture, and she says, “Grief’s a funny thing, you know – I can understand where Andy’s coming from. Might even have been me, second guessing everything, if I’d not been lucky.” She lets one pink-painted nail drop to rest over Jack’s chest. “Jack and I’d had our share of problems, you know – and we’d not entirely settled things, when he went to Spain that time. Then, after he died, well, it was eating me up. What might’ve been…whether we’d have sorted it all out, got back together. Or whether I was just – fooling myself.”

This is all news to Robert. “What happened?”

She smiles at the photograph. “D’you really think _Jack Sugden_ would’ve stood for me tying myself up in knots all because of some misunderstanding? No – plainspeaking to the end, that was Jack. He wrote me a letter, letting me know exactly how he felt…and telling me not to waste my time on regrets, but to remember the time we had together.” Voice soft, she says, “It was good advice. I’ve tried to keep it in mind ever since.”

A last stroke of her fingertip, and she glances up at Robert. “He’d be glad to see you back here, helping your brother.”

Robert looks down at the photograph, at his father’s face, his thinning hair, the familiar downturned eyes. “Yeah,” he says.

He can feel Diane’s eyes on him, kind, but too intent for comfort. “He wasn’t perfect – I’m not sayin’ he was,” she says. “But he was a good man, and he loved you. Didn’t understand you worth a damn, mind – but he _did_ love you. Try not to forget that, eh?”

Chas Dingle’s voice from behind them saves him from having to answer, “Sorry – didn’t realise you were busy.” 

Diane starts as she gets to her feet, looks at her watch. “Oh – I must’ve lost track of time…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Chas says, as she comes around the back of the sofa. She cranes her head to look down at the photo album on the coffee table. “Just we’ve got a barrel needs changing, so if you wouldn’t mind covering the bar for a sec.”

“Of course not. We were just looking through some old photos and got to talking…you know how it is, any chance to come over all sentimental.”

“You should get Robert to help you with that,” she says. 

“What d’you mean?” Diane asks.

“He can give you some of _his_ wedding photos for your album,” Chas suggests, then, voice sharpening as she nails him with her eyes, “You _are_ married, aren’t you, Robert? Only, it’s a bit hard to remember, sometimes.”

He stares up at her, and there’s a strange rushing sound in his ears. He can barely hear Diane saying quickly, “Well…come on then, this barrel’s not going to change itself, is it?” as she takes Chas by the elbow, gesturing her out of the living room.

Alone, Robert gets to his feet, leans his hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, digging his fingers in until the tips turn white. He finds himself dragging in long slow breaths that don’t do anything to calm his suddenly stuttering heartbeat. He’s married to Chrissie – he’s wearing the ring that proves it. He’s sure there are lots of photos to document the day…there are bound to be.

But he can’t remember his wedding. 

He casts his mind back, searching. There’s _nothing_ there – literally nothing, just a blank spot where his memory of one of the most important days of his life should be. 

This isn’t normal. This is –

“Seriously?”

He straightens, turns around. Aaron’s standing in the doorway, feet planted and a bag slung over his shoulder – and all Robert can do for a moment is stare. “You’re back.”

Aaron makes a small gesture with his hands, like ‘obviously’, then stops, frowns at him. “You all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” It feels like the breath is actually going into his lungs now. 

“Just” – Aaron shrugs, looks away. “No reason.”

“Well, alright – apart from the fact that my mechanic decided to skip town without a word of warning,” Robert amends. He keeps his eyes on Aaron. His heart rate’s starting to slow. “I can understand why you were so drawn to the Allegro now. Seeing that you’re about as reliable.”

“And that gave you the right to stake out my home till I came back?” Aaron says. “Do that often, do you?”

“Or I was just paying a visit to my _stepmum_ , who happens to live here too,” Robert tells him. “But hey, if you want to leap to conclusions, be my guest.”

Aaron shakes his head, like he’s annoyed at letting himself be drawn in. “Right,” he says, and makes as if to head upstairs. 

“So how was London?” Robert says to halt him.

He stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Fine.”

Well, that’s informative. “Thanks for all your texts, by the way. Really felt like I was in the loop.”

Aaron does swing around then. “Didn’t realise I needed to clear all my plans with you beforehand.”

“I’m not saying that. Just – it would’ve been nice to be told, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t jump just because you want me to,” Aaron tells him, weirdly intense and hostile for someone Robert’s making an insane amount of effort to accommodate. 

“Wow – customer service is really not your strong point, is it?” Robert says. Can’t help himself from adding, “Speaking of which, I’m assuming our deal still stands. The car?”

Aaron regards him, then nods once. “Yeah. We’re still on. Provided you’ve not got bored in the meantime.”

“Hang on a minute – is that why you pulled the whole disappearing act? To make sure I was serious about this?” He can hear the incredulous grin peeping through his words.

“Oh yeah, course I did. Or maybe I wanted to go to London to visit a mate,” Aaron says. “But if you want to leap to conclusions, be my guest.”

Robert inclines his head, acknowledging the hit. “Well, I am,” he says, and clarifies, stepping closer, right into Aaron’s space. “Serious, I mean.”

Up close, the set of Aaron’s mouth is tense, pulling at the corners, as he looks him up and down. “Tomorrow, then. The garage – after closing time.”

“I’ll be there.”

The sound of Chas’ voice makes them both jump, and pull apart. “Aaron, love – you’re back!” she says as she enters once again, eyes flicking between him and Robert.

“Just got in now,” he tells her, lifting up the bag on his shoulder like some kind of proof.

“You should go upstairs,” she tells him. He stares at her. “I mean – you’re probably tired. Could do with a bit of a lie down…some peace and quiet.” She fires the words ‘peace’ and ‘quiet’ like missiles in Robert’s direction.

“Oh yeah, don’t mind me,” Robert says. 

“See?” Chas says, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, and directing a face stretching smile at Aaron. He frowns at her, but she just manages to make her smile even wider, accompanying it with some demented looking nodding.

Aaron looks at her like she’s lost her mind but exits the room, shaking his head. Chas watches him go, but when she turns back to Robert, her face is wiped bare of all the deranged cheer, as if it had never existed. As she sizes him up, Robert looks back at her evenly, mind already slipping to tomorrow, the garage. Triumph flares in his stomach. _Nice try_ , he thinks. _But you’re already too late_.

“I take it we shouldn’t be holding our breath on those wedding photos, then?” Chas says finally.

*****

Later that night, as Vic flicks through a magazine at the kitchen table, Adam enters, running a towel over his hair, and says, “Hey babe – I’ve just had a thought” –

“First time for everything, I suppose,” Robert mutters, but Adam ignores him, slinging the towel over his shoulder. “How would you feel about taking tomorrow off, and us spending the day together?”

“Marlon’d go spare,” Vic says. A grin spreads over her face, “So sign me up. Are you sure though?”

“I reckon Aaron can manage on his own for one day, considering I did it for him,” Adam says. 

It’s too good an opportunity for Robert to miss. “Yeah, well, just make sure you don’t work him too hard.”

Adam frowns over at him. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, since we’re going to be restoring a car together, I’d say I’ve got some interest.”

Vic’s mouth opens. “You what?”

“We’re restoring an old car together,” Robert repeats. Then, affecting puzzlement as he turns to Adam, “Did Aaron not mention that to you? Funny.”

“Yeah. Funny,” Adam says, staring at Robert with hard eyes.

“Hang on a minute – you and Aaron are fixing up a car…since _when_?” Vic says. There’s a line between her eyebrows.

“Don’t sound too thrilled – I thought you wanted me to have a hobby.”

“Yeah – not this one, though!”

“What then?”

She stares at him. “Anything else! _Literally_ anything else!”

“Yeah, well, then you should’ve come up with some better alternatives. I mean stamp collecting – seriously?”

“How did this even happen? Because the last I remember, Aaron could hardly stand to be in the same room as you.”

“Yeah, all right – I don’t think it was as bad as all that,” Robert objects. “Anyway, we’ve sorted it out.”

“You did?” Vic says. She doesn’t seem reassured. “ _How_? Or do I even want to know?”

“It’s fine, Vic. Really. Aaron told me.”

His sister and Adam exchange a look. “Told you what, exactly?” she asks warily.

“Er – about how to make sure I’m getting the best price for my copper. What d’you _think_? About his ex.”

“His…ex?”

“Yeah. The one I’m a dead ringer for, apparently. Bit of a weird reason to hold a grudge against me, seeing as I can’t exactly help what my _face_ looks like – but we’ve moved past that now.” He turns to Adam. “It wouldn’t have killed you to say something, you know. Could’ve really saved me some grief.”

“Right. Cos that’s my job, isn’t it?” Adam shoots back.

“And – what did Aaron say about him? This…ex,” Vic persists.

“Yeah, well, it’s Aaron – so it’s not like he went into all that much detail. But from the sounds of it, he was a quite nasty piece of work – real psycho, apparently. Suppose I can’t blame him for taking a bit of time to warm up to me.”

“ _Psycho_?” Vic’s voice is loud. “Aaron actually _said_ that?”

“Did you know him?” Robert asks, at the same time as Adam says, “Sounds about right.”

Vic suddenly turns on him, chair scraping against the floor as she gets to her feet, “Oh yeah, because _Aaron_ was a total angel in all this.”

That’d probably be a yes, then.

“No-one’s saying that, but face facts Vic – there’s only one _psycho ex_ here, and it ain’t Aaron,” Adam says, face set.

“That’s not how it _was_. I mean, okay, it was screwed up and not exactly healthy, but you don’t get to just – rewrite history like that.”

“Oh, I forgot – only the psycho exes get to do that.”

Hurt flashes across her face, and Robert is completely thrown. He…really hadn’t expected Vic to come out so vocally as a member of Team Psycho Ex. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he says, “Y’know it’s nice that you want to give both sides a fair hearing, but I don’t think we need to be all that worried about slandering Aaron’s ex. Since he’s pretty much out of the picture by now.”

She doesn’t respond to him, keeps her focus squarely on her husband. “You’re not being fair, Adam. I know Aaron’s your friend and everything, but let’s not pretend he’s some Mr Perfect who’s never made any mistakes.”

“Yeah well, at least Aaron _knows_ what he did!”

In the sudden hush, he can hear Vic’s sharp breath in. “I can’t believe you just said that.” 

As far as hurtful things to say go, it seems fairly tame (and honestly, closer to incomprehensible than unforgivable), but regardless, Adam stands his ground. “Someone had to say it.”

“And it just had to be you, didn’t it? Because you’re all about _honesty_ , aren’t you? I’m sure it’s not even a little bit about scoring points for your mate against someone who can’t even defend himself properly.” She gives a tight shake of her head, body closed off. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Adam.”

She pushes past them, out of the kitchen, and there’s an awkward silence, underscored by the thump of Vic’s feet on the stairs.

Finally Robert clears his throat. “Right…should I even ask?”

Adam casts an irritated look at him. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one day?”

“All right,” Robert says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I mean, I don’t remember me being the one who pissed Vic off, but if that’s how you want to play it, fine.”

Adam makes a small, disgusted sound at the back of his throat, before he wheels off into the sitting room, leaving Robert alone in the kitchen.

Well. That could’ve gone better.

*****

He comes back to it later that night, when he’s lying in bed. Pokes at it gingerly, like a sore tooth – not that it makes any difference. 

He still can’t remember the day he got married. 

He’s young. He’s healthy. He takes reasonably good care of himself – he’s not going around getting blackout drunk all the time, at least. There’s no _reason_ this should be so difficult.

But no matter how many times he tells himself that, it’s like trying to climb a smooth glass wall – there’s no purchase, nothing for him to grip. The space where that memory should be is so aggressively blank it doesn’t even feel like he’s trying to remember something he’s forgotten. It feels more like he’s trying to remember something that never even happened. 

It feels ominous, twisting and turning in Robert’s gut. He doesn’t know what it means, and he’s really not sure he _wants_ to. So in the end, he does what he always does when faced with something unpleasant, and pushes it away. 

He finds himself thinking about tomorrow and the garage instead. 

*****

The next morning, and he comes downstairs to find Victoria pairing socks like they’ve personally offended her.

He waits for a minute, but she doesn’t acknowledge him, and finally he offers, “I thought you and Adam were spending the day together.”

She flings some mildly pink underwear into the basket and says, “Oh we are. Can’t you tell? It’s going really well too.”

He watches for another minute before saying, “Seriously, you’re not still fighting about last night, are you?”

“What gives you that idea?” Vic tosses a pair of plain black socks in like they’re a grenade.

“Come on Vic, it’s a bit much, isn’t it? You’re really giving Adam the cold shoulder over some guy Aaron’s not even seeing anymore?” He studies her. “Friend of yours, was he?”

“You know what, I don’t really want to talk about it,” she says.

“All right,” Robert agrees. “I just hope he appreciates your support, that’s all.”

“Probably not, actually, knowing him,” Vic says, taking aim with a pair of boxer shorts. “But don’t get me started on that.”

He can feel himself projecting bemusement. “Then why not just let it go? I mean, seriously Vic – it’s a bit pointless you stressing yourself out about something no-one else even cares about.”

She looks at him for a long moment, a frown on her face, before her shoulders slump. “You know what?” she says. “You’re absolutely right. No-one else cares, so why should I bother?”

He frowns. “I don’t think I said that.”

“No, no, you’re right. It’s all pointless,” she says, apparently now whole-heartedly committed to nihilism. It's a bit offputting.

“Okay…?” he says, since she seems to expect some response. 

“As a matter of fact, it’s _so_ pointless that I’m not even gonna tell you that this car thing with Aaron is a _terrible_ idea. Because we all know that you’re just gonna end up doing whatever you want anyway, so why would I bother? Do what you like.” She finishes by throwing her hands in the air, and staring challengingly at him. 

Wary, he looks back at her, says, “All right. Appreciated?”

*****

Aaron’s already there, in the garage when Robert ducks in.

“Still lending a hand here then?” he says, because Aaron’s wearing a pair of blue overalls, and he closes the bonnet of a Renault Clio when he catches sight of Robert.

Aaron shrugs. “Yeah, well, with Debbie gone, we’re all mucking in.”

“Helping Cain to add up and sign his name?”

“Funny,” Aaron acknowledges. “Now say that to his face.”

“Yeah – I’ll pass.”

“Thought you might.”

Robert can’t hold back his grin any longer, but abruptly, Aaron’s all business, turning and making for the yellow ( _yellow!_ ) automobile stashed in the back.

“By the way, speaking of Cain, he wants you to pay for storage,” he says. “Says it’s bringing down the property value just by being here.”

“So he knows then. That you’re helping me, I mean.” Robert’s mouth pulls into a smirk.

“I told him some headcase with more money than sense saw the thing and wanted to restore it.” A perfectly timed pause, “So yeah, he probably knows.”

They don’t get very far, just make a full inspection, and begin pinning down what needs to be done. “Right,” Aaron says as he paces around the thing, “Well, there’s the welding obviously, new front wings and panel – floor pans need replacing, rear inner arches have patches, and,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought, “it needs an engine.”

“Oh, is that all?” Robert asks, facetious. Aaron looks back at him and says, “Think the rear wiper’s knackered too.”

Privately, Robert thinks that all the work in the world isn’t going to make the car any less of an unsightly mess he wouldn’t be caught dead driving.

Still, he feels the anticipation building – gaining speed and momentum, unstoppable.

*****

He’s got this picture in his head of how it’s going to go from then on, every couple of nights, whenever Aaron’s got an hour or two to spare. Him, Aaron, car so repulsive not even its own manufacturer could love it – and to be fair, that _is_ basically how it is.

Except for the spectators.

The first time, it’s Vic, turning up with a peace offering of coffee and some sandwiches. It’s not like they’ve had a fight exactly, and on the surface everything’s all right, but underneath, things have been a bit subdued and tentative in Keeper’s Cottage since the weird ‘nothing matters’ semi-meltdown. 

“Everything alright? Just thought I’d pop in and see how you boys were doing – offer some encouragement,” she says. Then, “Hang on – is _this_ the car you were talking about?”

“Not much gets past you, does it?”

It’s only their second meetup and they’re giving the Allegro a good clean. But Robert’s feeling a bit snappish, despite the fact that parts of the car are now starting to gleam. Maybe he’s snappish _because_ of that. The thing’s so yellow it’s practically radioactive. A new paint job is definitely going on that list of things to do. 

Vic tilts her head to the side. “You know, I think the dirt was actually an improvement – because that has got to be the ugliest car I think I’ve ever seen.”

“Right. This is the encouragement, then, is it?”

To Robert’s surprise, she doesn’t leave when the sandwiches are done, either, just hangs around and watches them work. 

“It’s not what I thought you’d go for,” she says. “Not your usual style, is it?”

“And what is my usual style?” Robert asks, slightly mollified.

“I dunno,” Vic shrugs as she circles the car. “Something a bit more…flash,” she decides, at the same time as Aaron mutters, “– obnoxious.”

Vic smothers a grin and it’s not that he doesn’t like spending time with her – but he can’t hold back the flare of impatient annoyance that brings him right back to being a kid, and being expected to overlook minor transgressions that never _felt_ minor at the time, even if Vic _was_ too young to know any better. 

Eventually, Aaron says, “Think we can pack it in for tonight,” and Vic says, “ _Finally_. I’m freezing here.”

The comment rises up rebelliously, _Then why didn’t you just leave?_ But he bites it back, as Vic balls up the clingfilm and twists the top onto the thermos. “You coming, Rob?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” he says, and waves her off. As soon as she’s exited the garage, he walks around the right side of the car. Aaron’s inspecting the rusted wing, down on his knees on the hard concrete floor. It’s a good look on him, Robert can’t help but think. He allows himself to appreciate the image for long enough that Aaron eventually glances up and demands, “What?”

He digs in his pocket and brings out some notes. “For storage,” he says, and puts up a hand, as Aaron braces himself to stand, “No - don’t get up.” He doesn’t look away from Aaron’s eyes, deliberate as he gestures with the toe of his trainer (almost nudging Aaron’s thigh) and says, “Think you missed a spot.”

There’s only the barest second before Aaron gets to his feet with a scowl, making sure not to touch him as he takes the money, but the spark and crackle of that moment warms Robert as he catches up with Vic. 

She’s quiet, but it’s a bubbling kind of quiet. Robert’s not entirely sure he wants to lift the lid on it, and sure enough, when she breaks the silence, it’s to say, “It wasn’t what I was expecting, you know. The car. It’s just a pile of junk, really, isn’t it?”

“You know, all this encouragement’s really making me miss the days when you weren’t bothered.”

“Sorry,” she says, a bit chastened. “But, come on, Rob – are you really _that_ serious about it? Because…if you’re not, then the best thing you could do is pull out now, and not waste any more of Aaron’s time. And besides…”

“What?”

She bites her lip. “Well…if you and Chrissie _don’t_ get back together – which, please don’t take this the wrong way, I’m just _saying_ , on the off-chance…then, d’you think sinking a huge chunk of your money into that car’s really such a good idea?”

He faces forward, staring straight ahead as he tells her, “Tell you what – why don’t you save some of that cheer for someone who could really use it. You know, the sick, the elderly – the clinically depressed…”

*****

No-one waiting around the corner, no-one at all that evening, just him and Aaron, and this time, when Robert holds out the money, Aaron doesn’t take it – doesn’t stand. Instead, he holds Robert’s gaze, hot with intensity, as his hands reach out to unbuckle Robert’s belt. The button of his jeans next, and then Aaron’s fingers are on the zip, tugging it down so slowly it barely makes a sound, before pushing his jeans down his thighs. He draws each step out, giving it all a delicious, maddening kind of weight. 

Robert’s breathing is loud and fast, bouncing off the walls, and he doesn’t even try to stop the noise he makes when Aaron finally works the band of his underwear down to let his cock free. Aaron sits back a bit on his heels – but it’s only to make eye-contact again, seemingly unafraid at adding another layer of anticipation to the moment, even though it’s already at an almost unbearable level. 

Because when he finally does it – finally leans in to take Robert’s cock into his warm, wet mouth – _fuck_ , it’s perfect, it’s _perfect_ , it’s everything the teasing, drawn-out buildup promised, and somehow, unbelievably, even better.

*****

Next they start the strip down, getting off the front bumper (which immediately detaches from the o/s bracket), as well as the indicators, the front panel vents, the grill and the number plate. And this time, it’s Adam who shows up to have a go at standing around being useless.

“Did someone take a wrong turn? Because this looks like one of ours,” he says, and laughs. He’s been slowly returning to his usual overbearing form since he and Vic finally made up – though he seems to take a certain pleasure in aiming good-natured digs at Robert that maybe aren’t really _that_ good-natured underneath. “Tell you what – I’ll give you a hundred quid for it, mate, and save you the work.”

“Feel free to actually help. No-one’s gonna stop you,” Robert tells him, barely clinging on to civility by his gritted teeth. Yeah, he’d committed to investing his time and energy into a car that would be, at best, a rolling punchline – but then, the car itself was only meant to be an _excuse_. A backdrop. Except it’s impossible to think of the car like that when there are other people present, insistently putting it front and bloody centre.

“You’re alright – I don’t think I could afford the tetanus shot,” Adam says, and just like that, the backing track for tonight’s work is loud laughter and really-not-that-funny piss-taking. Maybe even Aaron finds it hard going, though if he does, he takes it out on Robert, rather than the real problem.

“What you doing?” he asks flatly as Robert crouches by the front of the car and aims his phone.

“What does it look like? I’m taking some photos.”

“Right. Because these are the moments you really wanna remember,” Aaron says, disparaging. “How could I forget that time we removed the front bumper…s’golden, that.”

Robert aims an annoyed glance at him. “Yeah, well, Vic doesn’t think I’m serious about this” –

“I don’t think any of us do,” Adam interrupts. “I mean – _look_ at that thing!”

“– so I’m keeping a record of our progress.” He directs his words solely toward Aaron. “Everything we do. To show how far we’ve come.” Aaron frowns down at him, jolted out of dismissiveness, but then –

“Ooh, better watch out – he’s gonna be starting a blog next,” Adam says.

*****

The night the near side wing comes off – and Andy shows up – Robert’s had just about enough.

“You’ve got one minute to point and laugh, then the door’s that way.” 

“Or you could always pull up a chair. It _is_ pretty funny,” Aaron says, because god knows, if Robert happened to remark upon the two of them having _breathing air_ in common, Aaron would immediately do his best to grow gills. 

Andy glances between the two of them, taken aback. “Well – Vic just happened to mention about the car, and I thought I’d come and lend a hand.”

And all right, it goes quicker with three instead of two, but that’s not the point, is it? Anyway, Andy’s very presence seems to cast a pall, tinging the edges of everything with sadness – and it turns out Aaron’s not immune to this effect, ultimately retreating into frowning silence like a moody turtle, and answering all questions with half-hearted shrugs and grunts. 

It makes Robert want to put up a big _Keep Out_ sign over the garage and his time with Aaron, and that doesn’t change, even though Andy keeps trying to help by taking pictures on Robert’s phone – like the car is a minor celebrity Robert’s dying to be seen with. 

Andy’s quiet too when they get home, but he keeps looking at Robert, and then looking away again, until Robert can’t take it anymore and finally says, “ _What_?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but I can feel you thinking it, so – what is it? You’ve got loads to choose from. Let’s see – ugliest car you’ve ever seen…the amount of money I’ve spent on it…the amount of money I’m _going_ to spend on it, because obviously, it’s gonna take a packet to make something like that roadworthy…” Robert starts holding up fingers as he lists off potential complaints, “And of course, there’s always the fact that whatever I spend, there’s no way it’s ever gonna be worth the investment. So go ahead. Take your pick.”

“What? No. Nothing like that,” Andy says, then feels compelled to admit, “Even if that car’s not gonna be winning any contests anytime soon. It’s your money, and if that’s what makes you happy, well, who am I to stop you? Just…”

“Oh right, here it comes,” Robert mutters. 

“There’s a lot of work to be done on it. The car.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Even if you keep going at this rate, couple of hours a week – it could take a year or two before it’s ready.”

“Yeah, again, not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Robert says, making an impatient ‘speed it up’ motion with his hand.

“I didn’t think you were planning on staying around that long, is all.”

“What?” Robert looks at him. It’s like he’s backed up into a wall that wasn’t there a minute ago. “I’m-I’m not.”

It’s true. Until this very moment, he’s managed to hold the two ideas in his head – that his stay in Emmerdale was a finite thing, tied to his near inevitable reunion with Chrissie…and that he was going to commit a vast, open-ended amount of time to fixing an infinitely damaged car with Aaron – without once seeing that the two things were interconnected, like jigsaw pieces.

“Right.” Andy sounds if anything, more confused, and Robert pushes down the uneasy resentment he feels at Andy pointing out the flaws in his reasoning. He had known exactly what he was doing until five minutes ago. Instead he scrambles for an explanation, for himself as much as Andy. He hits on, “But there’s always weekends, isn’t there? I mean, it’s not like I’m barred from ever entering the village again if I leave.”

It’s funny, but just saying it causes something inside him to loosen. He can do this. He can make it all work. Of course he can.

Andy, on the other hand, doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “And you’re really gonna do that – travel down here on weekends to work on the car until it’s done?”

“I don’t know, Andy – why don’t you let me hop inside my time machine and find out?” he snaps, because enough is enough.

*****

The next time Robert approaches the garage, he gets Paddy Kirk mid-sorrowful diatribe. “– just thought we were past all this, you know.”

He can _tell _, just from the tone, because Paddy sounds like he’s discovered Aaron is running an illegal organ-harvesting operation in the garage. Great. So now Aaron’s family/minders _definitely_ know about Robert and the car restoration project.__

“All what?” Aaron asks, even though he doesn’t sound particularly interested in the answer.

“You _know_ – the thing where someone tells you that doing something is a bad idea, and even though you already _know_ it’s a bad idea to do that thing, you don’t like being _told_ that, so you go off and do the thing anyway. _That_ thing.” 

“Nope. Not following, Paddy,” Aaron says, and Robert takes this as his cue to step inside.

“Oh. Robert,” Paddy says, and Robert wonders if he means to say his name as if it’s a synonym for foot fungus, or whether he’s just a really terrible actor. 

“Wow. Don’t sound too pleased, Paddy – wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” He looks at Aaron. “I take it this means we’ve got ourselves an audience tonight?”

He only realises that Paddy hadn’t even thought of that from the way he brightens and says, “Actually, I wouldn’t mind” –

_Shit._

“ _No_ ,” Aaron cuts across him, very definitely.

“But I just” –

“ _No_ ,” he says again, adding, “I don’t come down to your surgery to watch you slice up cats and dogs, do I?”

“Okay, well…first of all, I don’t ‘slice up’ animals – because I’m a vet, not a butcher. And second” –

“Bye, Paddy,” Aaron tells him, no room for argument.

“All right, all right, I’m going,” he says, though he almost immediately contradicts himself by turning around and saying, “But you will keep it in mind, though, won’t you? What I said?”

Aaron stares at him. “Which part? The thing about the thing? Or the thing about the other thing?”

“The one about” – Paddy stops at the look on Aaron’s face. “Right. I’m really going now.”

After he’s pulled the door shut behind him, there’s a silence that there hasn’t been since that first night, when everyone had still been some mixture of too confused/vaguely pissed off/disorganised to actually interfere. It’s gratifying. Refreshing.

_Loaded._

Robert breaks it by saying, “Well, I won’t say I’m sorry he’s not joining us.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything and Robert tilts his head to the side as he studies him. “I take it this means our car project is common knowledge,” he says, not unsympathetically. Aaron’s…the first word that comes to Robert’s mind is ‘solid’ (he even gets an accompanying flash of Aaron standing in the doorway upon his return from London, as if in illustration). But for some reason, Aaron’s family seem to think he’s made of dandelion fluff and cotton wool.

“Yeah, well, it was bound to happen, considering how many people _you_ told,” Aaron mutters.

Okay, well, that had been mostly Vic (and honestly, he wouldn’t have said anything if he’d realised she was going to misinterpret a simple urge to show off on his part, and turn it into an open invitation to gatecrash instead). 

Still, he fires back, “I didn’t realise I was sworn to secrecy.” He studies the straight line of Aaron’s mouth. “They giving you a hard time about it?”

He blows out an exasperated breath. “Look, can we just get on with it?”

“All right, all right,” Robert says, holding up his palms – and true to his word, he doesn’t mention it again…

…well, not until they’ve stopped for a cuppa, anyway. It’s been alright – quiet, but then, they’ve made some real progress on the car. Which would be great, if Robert gave a shit about the car. But it’s finally just them, and that means that he can take the opportunity to muse aloud, “So – this ex of yours…”

Aaron gives him a warning look, which Robert chooses to ignore. “He must’ve really been something special, if your family’s so traumatised they don’t even want you hanging around someone who _looks_ like him.”

Aaron stares into his mug and says, under his breath, “That’s one way of putting it.”

“And I really look that much like him?”

Aaron doesn’t answer…which is answer enough.

“Maybe I’ve got an evil twin,” Robert says, to lighten the mood, and takes a sip of his tea. When he glances up, Aaron is looking at him. “Scary thought,” he says evenly.

“So – what’d he do? Your ex. My evil twin.”

“None of your business.”

“Come on – I’m only asking as a mate.”

“Well, we’re _not_ mates, so – that solves that problem.”

“If you say so,” Robert shrugs.

Aaron’s eyes are hard. “We’re not. Just because you chuck a load of cash at me, doesn’t make us mates, all right?”

“Never said it did.”

“Then I don’t know why you’d think we were.”

“Oh I don’t know. It might have something to do with me covering up that time your uncle decided to tell me how much he didn’t like my face…using his fists.”

“Which you then used to blackmail me into finding you a car,” Aaron points out. “Very matey, that.”

“Yeah. And you took the opportunity to con me out of ten thousand and gave me a _flying pig_ instead. Which makes us about even, as far as I can see. Plus, you did agree to work on it with me, so…you can’t think I’m all that bad.”

Aaron looks away, intentionally stonewalling.

Robert persists, lowering his voice, even though it’s just the two of them. This thing between them is still a secret they haven’t admitted they both know. “Come on, Aaron. Don’t you ever want to take the easy way out – just for a change?”

“Easy for who – me, or you?”

He considers it, and lets a smile curl through his words – a tease, a challenge. “I don’t know. Why don’t you give in and find out?”

It doesn’t matter that Aaron isn’t meeting his eyes, Robert can feel it, the change in the air – the fluorescent lightbulb buzz of attraction. Aaron’s got to get tired of pretending it’s not there, sometime. It’s _going_ to happen – sex between them had turned from an abstract possibility into a foregone conclusion the moment Aaron had presented him with the Allegro. 

“Tell me about your ex,” Robert says again. 

Aaron finally looks back at him. Finally starts playing. “Tell me about yours.”

…on his own terms.

He raises his eyebrows at Robert, like ‘your move’, and there’s only one way to answer to keep the game going. “…all right. But Chrissie’s not my ‘ex’, so.”

Even though Aaron already knows he’s married, Robert feels a strange reluctance as he says her name, at bringing her into the garage, into the space between them.

Aaron shrugs. “Doesn’t exactly seem very ‘current’ though, does she? I mean, unless you’re married to the invisible woman.”

“Fine – if it’s what you want to hear,” he says, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Aaron had _asked_. “Chrissie’s…amazing. Gorgeous. Smart. Knows exactly what she wants.”

“Which is why you’re living with your sister, and she’s nowhere in sight, right?”

Robert forces himself to smile. “I’m not gonna deny we’ve been having some trouble. But lots of couples go through that.”

Aaron nods in agreement, then asks, razor-quick, “So why’d she kick you out?”

He huffs out a laugh. “What makes you assume Chrissie’s the one did the kicking out?”

“You did say she was smart, so…”

Robert considers it, leans forward a bit. “D’you want to know the truth?” They’re seated close enough to start with, and Aaron’s whole posture stiffens in awareness, but he doesn’t shift back. “I don’t even know what I did. Swear to you – it’s a complete mystery to me. It’s like – one minute everything was normal, and the next…I’m hanging on here, waiting for her to come to her senses.”

“Romantic.”

“And what about you? Fair’s fair, after all.” He lets the innuendo drip, thick, holds eye contact, “I showed you mine, now…show me yours.”

“Not much to say.”

“Oh come on – you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Aaron looks at him for a long second, and releases a breath. “All right – where d’you want to start? Egotist, narcissist, occasional psychopath…oh, can’t forget closet-case…”

In spite of all his goading it’s a bit weird to have Aaron throw out such exaggerated accusations. Robert just sits there and hopes the look on his face is sympathetic.

“And then,” Aaron finishes with a heavy kind of satisfaction, “There was the _porn_ …"

*****

He braces himself the next time he goes into the pub and Chas is serving, but she puts a pint in front of him without so much as a complaint – never mind the overdramatic scene he’d been envisioning.

He looks at his drink. “Should I be expecting poison?”

“I’m sorry – what?” she says, pretending like she hasn’t heard him.

“The last time I asked Aaron’s advice about a car, you arranged to have me beaten up. What’s it gonna be this time? Horse’s head in my bed?”

He can practically taste the dislike that’s coming off her, but she just says, “Don’t be stupid. I think we both know how Aaron’d react to that. And I’d rather not give you any more ammo.”

“So – what? You’re not even going to say anything about it?”

“No.” 

“Really.”

“I could,” Chas says. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I _could_. But then you would just end up twistin’ my words, and using them for your own selfish advantage. The way you always do. So I’m just gonna keep my mouth closed this time.”

“Good choice,” Robert approves.

She smiles at him. “You see, I realised I really don’t have to say anything. Because sooner or later, _you_ are gonna mess this up all by yourself.” Her voice is very pleasant, like she’s talking about the weather. “You’ll let him down, prove he was wrong to ever give you a chance, and then I’ll come along and pick up the pieces – and we’ll go back to the way things are supposed to be.” 

She places her forearms on the bar and rests her weight on them. Advises him, “So, why don’t you hurry up and do your job, so I can do mine?”

*****

It’s Friday when it happens. The off side wing comes off…and Doug and Diane show up.

“For real? Should I just start selling tickets or something?” Robert has to ask, because it’s beyond a joke now.

“I’m sure with that kind of sparkling attitude you’d have them lining up,” Diane says, unruffled, though the best she can come up to say about the car is, “It’s very…retro, isn’t it? Would you call it vintage?”

“I’d call it _old_ ,” Doug tells her. Then, with an appalling lack of self-awareness from a man who seems to think that Robert _wants_ frequent updates on the state of his seedlings, “Have we demonstrated enough interest now, d’you think?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Robert says, before Diane can open her mouth. 

“Touchy,” Aaron observes, after they’ve left.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of everyone coming in here to have a laugh.”

“You can always call it quits, whenever you want.” It’s small and it’s stupid, but Robert hadn’t been in a good mood to begin with, and it rubs him up the wrong way. That seems to set the tone for the night, because when they get the o/s wing off it’s to find that the inner wing lip is at least 80% rust and rot, and when they attack the front panel, in _spite_ of the rust, it doesn’t want to come off.

Even their tea-break ends up feeding Robert’s frustration. He finds himself saying, deliberately provocative, “Y’know, I don’t think you’ve told me the whole story. About your ex,” because he _wants_ to get up in Aaron’s face. He wants the confrontation, can almost taste it on his tongue, like salt in the air.

But of course, _of course_ , this is one of those times when Aaron decides to barely give him a reaction, “Obviously. But psychopathic closet-case with a porn fetish is probably enough to be going on with.”

He keeps trying. Pushing. “I don’t mean that. I mean – this guy doesn’t even sound real.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Why’d you get involved in the first place? I mean, no offence, but you’re not exactly the cooperative type. Why’d you _stay_ involved?”

Really, it’s not like Robert needs to be told. There’s only one answer, especially if the guy is even a tenth as bad as Aaron’s painting him. But given that Robert looks like this guy, and he and Aaron have enough tension between them to induce stress headaches, he needs to _do_ it, he needs to finally make it tangible. More than that, he wants to make _Aaron_ say it – to stop teasing, and finally pull the idea of sex into the open, into this space between them that’s already fucking _alive_ with animal awareness. 

Instead, Aaron stares off to the side and says, “Dropped on the head as a kid, I guess,” before bracing his hands on his knees, and standing, ready to return to the front panel of the Allegro. Because that’s clearly the burning issue for tonight. 

Robert’s not letting it go. 

Which means that once the front panel has finally been defeated, and he says, “I don’t know about you, but I definitely need a drink after that. The pub? First one’s on me,” he just needs Aaron to say something like, “Yeah,” or “Alright,” or (slightly more unlikely), “Thanks, Robert – and by the way, I know I’ve been really hard on you for no good reason, so why don’t I get down on my knees and give you a thorough inspection for rust, to make up for it?”

But of course, Aaron goes with, “You want us to go and have a drink together? What – as mates?”

It’s there in the slightly disbelieving emphasis he puts on the word ‘mates’, but Robert doesn’t back down. He’s getting _something_ out of tonight – some acknowledgment, some concession on Aaron’s part. He holds eye-contact, and it feels aggressive. “Well, it’d be easier than having a drink together as strangers.”

A few seconds deliberation, before Aaron shakes his head. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Nah. Think I’ll give it a miss.”

Quickly, Robert puts out a hand to stop him moving past. Aaron looks at him, raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“If you’ve got something to say to me, Aaron – why don’t you just say it? Because all _this_ ,” he gestures between them, “is getting old.”

“Is that so?” Aaron asks. Robert’s aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He shrugs. “All right.”

He takes a step closer, until their shoes are nearly touching, and tells Robert, quiet but no less intense for all that, “I’m not your _mate_.”

“Then what are you?” Robert asks, in the same voice.

Aaron just looks at him for a moment, before turning away. And what happens next – it’s quick, but so smooth it’s like they’ve choreographed it. Like subconsciously, they both already know what’s coming. Robert reaches forward to grab Aaron’s wrist and pull him back – and Aaron follows through with the movement so immediately he might already have started to turn back before Robert even touched him. 

Then Aaron’s hands are on Robert’s hips, pushing him back until he’s pressed right up against the side of the car, and his mouth is finally, finally, _fucking finally_ on Robert’s.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve changed your mind. Fair enough, I suppose. Well, now that that’s cleared up, I suppose I’ll just beam back up there and cancel everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, in my head...I planned on having this finished for Christmas. Ahahaha - nope.
> 
> Another of those 'so obviously, I'll have to revisit when Robert pushes Katie through the floorboards. Hm, that might be a bit tricky to write...but I'll think about that later!' moments that always work out so well for me. (I honestly kind of liked Robert and Katie's 'Dearest Enemy' thing - I'm probably in the minority here)

Beside him, Aaron went very still as the tech repeated, “You want to call it off?” Her face scrunched up. “What? Like – the whole thing?”

“I’m sorry, is there a time delay? Because I could’ve sworn that’s what I just said,” Robert said.

“Oh. Okay. Only – you did pay us quite a lot of money to erase…” she pointed not one but both index fingers in Aaron’s direction, negating any possible subtlety the gesture might have had. “So you can see why I might be just a bit confused.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind, haven’t I?”

“Right. Right,” she said, nodding her head. “You’ve changed your mind. Fair enough, I suppose. Well, now that that’s cleared up, I suppose I’ll just beam back up there and cancel everything.” She paused. Rolled her eyes. “Oh wait – I _can’t_ , because this isn’t Star Trek and that’s not how _any_ of this works. Just out of curiosity, what part of ‘permanent, irreversible procedure’ are you having trouble with? Because I’m sure I went through all the fine print with you. It’s standard practice.”

She turned to Aaron. “There’s always one, you know. You spell it all out for them, but they don’t bother listening, because they assume the rules just don’t apply to them. Is he always like this?”

Aaron weighed it up. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Her attention swung back to Robert. “Well – seeing as I’m here anyway,” she said. “You signed our _contract_. Not to mention, _you’re_ currently unconscious and _I_ don’t exist, which sort of limits my effectiveness in this situation.” She tucked an untidy hank of hair behind her ears. “What I’m trying to get at is – it’s already way too late.”

His heart thumped once in his chest, heavy, as Robert stared at her. “I don’t believe you.”

“Funnily enough, that doesn’t actually make it less true.” Her eyes darted between him and Aaron, and she offered, “Still, look on the bright side – once it’s gone, I can guarantee you won’t even miss it.” To Aaron, “Sorry. True though.”

_No_. Robert found himself shaking his head in denial. The tech shrugged but didn’t say anything else, and the silence stretched out, a painful, attenuated thing, broken eventually by – 

“Well, that’s it then,” Aaron said, close to matter of fact. His eyes were fixed on the ground, closing off his face and presenting Robert with a clean, unrevealing sweep of forehead. But that didn’t matter. Robert didn’t need to see his expression – he drank in the dimly lit, well-known stance of Aaron’s body instead. 

“What? You’re giving up? Just like that?”

“You heard what she said. Nothing to be done.” His hands were fisted in his pockets, shoulders hunched in what Robert could tell was deliberate, defensive disinterest…and how could someone _take_ that knowledge from Robert, if he didn’t want them to? They couldn’t. It was impossible. Inconceivable.

“Well it certainly wasn’t your can-do attitude I fell for, was it?” He reached out, put his hands on Aaron’s shoulders. Lowered his voice. “I meant it, you know. What I said. Be a bit pathetic if I fell at the first hurdle, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually quite a big hurdle though – when you think about it.” The tech held up both palms. “Just saying.”

He kept chasing Aaron’s eyes with his, until finally, Aaron gave in and looked back. “Just give me a chance, all right? I promise – I won’t let you down.”

“Course you won’t. I forgot you’ve got that degree in brain surgery.” The sting of the words was lessened by his closeness, his body familiar under Robert’s palms.

“Don’t need one. I know what I want now.”

“And it’s that easy, is it?” On the surface, it sounded unpromising, but Robert could feel it in the steadiness of his gaze. Maybe Aaron didn’t believe him yet – but he wanted to, and Robert drew confidence from that.

“Can’t be any harder than it is right now,” he pointed out. “Come on, Aaron – just give me a chance to fix this.” His hands moved to cradle Aaron’s face, beard scratching against his fingers. He leaned in, and it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t acutely aware of the tech, standing off to the side…but he did it anyway. 

There was a flash of light almost as soon as his mouth touched Aaron’s. A click.

“Well, this _is_ a surprise.” 

Robert turned, slowly. The woman standing off to the side was blonde, yes. But it wasn’t the tech. Not anymore.

He swallowed. “Katie.” 

It was understated, but there was no hiding the triumph that hardened her face, flavoured her voice. It caused her mouth to curl up, just barely, at the corners. 

Of course. She thought she’d _won_. 

His stomach lurched, juddered like a faulty engine, at the thought of what was to come. “Katie, just – give me the phone.” He held out his hand. 

“D’you know, I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?” She looked at Aaron. “So _you’re_ the other woman?”

“You need to give me the phone,” Robert told her. “I mean it.”

“Steady,” Aaron cautioned, though Robert’s movement forward hadn’t been motivated by the sickening whirl of panicked anger that still pumped through his body. He pushed it down, shrugged Aaron’s hand off and faced her head on. “Katie – I need you to listen to me. Carefully. Because I’m telling you – if you don’t give me that phone and leave – right now…something terrible is going to happen.”

“So not only are you a lying cheat, but gay as well. Nice touch,” she said, unheeding of his words, his urgency. “How did you find out? Did he make a pass at you or something?”

Eyes averted, Aaron said, “Not exactly.”

“Tell her,” Robert demanded. “ _Tell her_ , Aaron.”

“Tell her what?”

“That she needs to get out of here, that she has to...she can’t stay here.”

“She’s not going to listen though, is she?” The expression on his face was a mixture of emotions, many of which Robert couldn’t read. But there was something like sympathy in the way Aaron looked at him, and it made his skin feel sunburned, hot and tight. “It’s like the doctor said. It’s too late for all that.”

Robert stared. “So, what – I’m just supposed to let this happen?”

“You’ve not got any choice,” Aaron said. “It’s _already_ happened.”

“It was a _stupid_ accident.” He could hear his voice shake. “I can’t. I’m not doing it again.”

“But you’ve got to.” In spite of the way Aaron’s mouth worked, the quiet way he said it – the words came out strangely implacable. Like they were written in stone. 

This was going to happen. 

He couldn’t stop it. 

He swung back to Katie. “Just let me explain – please.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Robert,” she said, almost kindly – the better to twist the knife with, “I’m not sure I can say the same for Chrissie though. I don’t think she’ll be quite as understanding, do you?”

“You’re going to die,” he told her. “If you don’t listen to me, you won’t get out of here alive.”

Aaron’s voice was rough. “Robert – stop it” –

“ _No_.” She was close enough that even in the muted light he could make her out clearly – her large eyes, the almost doll-like prettiness of her. It still felt like he was straining to see something else, some awareness hidden just beneath the surface. “D’you need specifics? Because I can give you those. Broken neck – that’s what kills you. Though maybe I should say it’s the fall through the floorboards. Bit hard to tell, really, since it all happens so fast. The only thing I know for sure is, it’s not a nice way to die.”

“D’you know, I’m gonna leave,” she said, a hint of patronising amusement leaking through as she added, “So…carry on as you were.”

“Don’t move!” It snapped out without his permission, though he immediately contradicted himself by saying, “ _Yes_ – go!”

She stopped.

“You’re not going to find a way out of this.”

Robert gritted his teeth. “D’you think you could stop being helpful for five seconds?”

“You know what – fine.” Aaron pushed past, eyes downcast. Robert grabbed for him, heart kicking up another notch in his chest. “No – you can’t, you can’t just _leave_.”

He turned back. “I can’t stay.”

“Of course you can – just don’t go.” The material of his jacket, the bones of his wrist were reassuringly solid under Robert’s fingers. “Please, Aaron. Just – try.”

Aaron shook his head, and cast a quick glance at Katie, so quick it was more flinch than look – but he didn’t make any further move to leave. The relief made Robert feel weak – but he kept a tight grip. 

He could get through this. 

“Now who’s the village bike?” Katie taunted – and it was just that, just that split second’s lapse where his attention was divided…and his hand was stretched out, fingers suddenly clutching nothing. He turned in a tight circle, eyes scouring every corner, even though he knew it was no use. Aaron was gone.

Back to Katie, he spoke around the hard lump in his throat. “Katie, I’m begging you, please, just – delete the photo.”

She leaned in, just slightly. “ _No_.”

“If you delete it, everything’ll be all right. I swear. It’s not like I _planned_ this…I never meant to” – he stopped, took a breath, tried to calm the spinning in his head. He heard Aaron again, _You’re not going to find a way out of this_. “Come on, Katie – you’re no saint. You’ve been in the same position as me.”

“I think I’d remember if I had a gay phase, Robert.”

He kept talking, the words spilling out. She _had_ to listen to him. He’d _make her_ listen. “ _You_ should understand – better than anyone. Remember when this was _us_? What we decided? We were going to wait…try and nurse Andy through the worst of it before we went public. It didn’t work out like that – but it’s what _you_ wanted. Because you didn’t want to hurt Andy any more than we had to. But now you’re going to bring Chrissie’s whole life crashing down around her, on her _wedding day_ – just so you can make me suffer?”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have started seeing a fella. Just a thought.” There was an almost flippant hardness to her. Trying to crack through it was like trying to find a toehold on sheer rock. 

All right. Fine. If Katie didn’t want to let common sense in the front door, then he’d sneak it in around the back. That was all. He took another steadying breath and eased forward slightly, into her space. 

“Oh, I get it. You want me on my knees, is that it? Want me to admit just how badly I screwed up? That you win? All right. I can do that. Not like I had much pride left anyway. So…here goes.” 

Softly, holding her gaze, he admitted, “I fucked up. And all this – with Aaron – it was my own fault. I _know_ that. It was wrong, and I knew better, and I did it anyway. I let it happen. I _made_ it happen. The same way I did with us. Because I wanted it. I wanted to. Probably wouldn’t even have ended it, if Aaron hadn’t gone and forced my hand. And even after he did, well, it’s not like I needed much persuading to go back on it, finally give you the evidence you needed” –

“So upset you had to snog his face off,” Katie said, voice rising in incredulity, all but rubbing his nose into his humiliation. 

“Yeah. Not my most convincing lie, was it?” he held out his palms by his side before letting them drop, a picture of utter defeat. No excuses. No deflections. His vulnerability was whittled pin-sharp – a thorn that _had_ to pierce through her determined obliviousness. “But then, you’ve just found out my deep dark secret, and I’m running scared. Because yeah – _I deserve this_. Everything you can throw at me, I deserve. There. _I admit it_. All right? You _win_ , Katie.” 

He searched her face for it – the dawning understanding, the connection, digging his fingers into his thighs. It _had_ to be there. “But now, now you’ve got to let it go. Not for _me_ – for your own sake. For _Andy_. You’ve got to be the bigger person here. Because, believe me, _you’re_ the one that’s gonna end up getting hurt if you don’t.”

There wasn’t even a pause.

“I will let you argue that one out with Chrissie,” Katie decided – and it wasn’t even the smallest deviation from the script…but she was making for the door.

_Yes_.

He pressed his lips together, bit his tongue. Another two steps, three, and she’d be out of the room. Another minute, and she’d be completely gone. All he had to do was stand here and not say anything…and this would all be over. He could do that. 

_He could do it_.

It clawed its way up his throat. “You can have whatever you want, okay? You can have this place for free if that’s what it takes. _Keep walking_ ,” he choked out.

She turned back. “Wow. You really are stuck to the back of that closet, aren’t you?”

And it was so clear now, that he’d never stood a chance of talking her round. This was just – one-upmanship. Katie’d been toying with him, taking the opportunity to watch him scrabble to right himself, and fail…the way he’d done with her.

He still promised her the farm for free. Invoked Andy’s name and all his weaknesses in his search for hers. Even though he could feel the leaden tang of inevitability creeping into the stale, dusty air. 

“Andy’ll be fine. Once he finds out I was telling the truth.”

“No, he won’t. Because you’ll be _dead_. How many times do I have to say it?!” His voice rose, ringing against the rafters.

“You’re disgusting.”

“The truth is – _you’re_ the only one who cares. Me and Aaron…the farm…none of that matters to Andy. Because losing _you_ is what’s gonna destroy him.” 

“Unless I accept your offer.”

There was nothing left but the same old words, and the blind, groping hope that somehow, _this time_ , they would be enough. “We say you convinced me to change my mind, you buy the place and I figure out a way of coming up with the money.”

She stood her ground. “All behind Andy’s back, right?”

“Well, that’s what keeping quiet means, yeah. And if it keeps you alive, I have to say I really don’t see what the problem is.”

“Right, and what happens next time I do something you don’t like?”

He looked at her, and…it didn’t matter. 

It didn’t matter that this was all happening in his mind. It didn’t matter that she was dead already. It didn’t matter that there was probably no way out of reliving this memory. Because Katie was _here_. All she had meant once, all she meant now, and the vast gap between those things – standing right in front of him. 

It felt _real_. 

“Nothing.” The effort of taking in air actually hurt – convincing his chest to rise and fall felt like lifting a slab of concrete. “No more grudges, that’s the end of it. All of it.”

“It would be the start of an even bigger lie,” she informed him, and he couldn’t help it, her sanctimony caused fresh frustration to bubble and roil in his gut. 

“Yeah – because we’ve never lied to Andy before.” He shook his head. “Don’t try and pretend this is some great crusade for justice here, Katie. Because the _only_ thing this is about, is sticking it to me. Bit petty, wouldn’t you say? More my style than yours, I’d’ve thought.”

Her mouth shaped reheated words in response, and he didn’t even hear them, uncomprehending as it hit him with silent force. His vision darkened to a point – her face – before expanding once again to incorporate their surroundings. 

Katie stood there in front of him, living, breathing (something spasmed in his chest at that), but for all that _mattered_ , she might as well have been a puppet on a string.

And the thing was…

The thing was…

…she wasn’t the only one. 

He couldn’t stop this – anymore than Katie could let him.

It felt almost familiar. From a distance of more than a decade, he repeated, part remembrance, and part realisation, “This is gonna end in a mess whatever we do, isn’t it?”

“Robert, getting married won’t turn the gay thing off,” she said, and it didn’t have anything to do with what he’d just said – but even if the main thrust of the words was exasperation, there was enough sincerity behind it to feel like a connection. 

A missed one. But still.

“I’m not gay,” he told her again, quieter this time. And, another long-ago echo, “You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

The wind cried outside, a constant keening that sent drafts knifing through the cracks and chinks of the old building, as inside, he and Katie faced each other. Robert looked at her – studying her like an optical illusion. That picture that was either a witch or a beautiful girl, until you figured out the trick and understood that it was both. In Katie’s face, he searched out traces of the girl he had loved, within the features of the woman he’d come to resent with equal force. His mobile went off, like an alarm clock, but this time he didn’t bother to take it from his pocket – he just kept looking. 

Her head was up, confident in her answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked. In spite of all his efforts, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in her. The farm, the money, Andy…right now, everything was secondary to her need for vindication – to prove that she’d been right, all along, about Robert. Maybe it had always been too late.

It was like drowning, being pulled under by a merciless current. Robert held his breath, and it burned. It felt like his chest was contracting even as his lungs were ready to burst. His heart formed an insistent vibrating baseline, demanding relief from the increasing pressure. And through it all Katie watched him, calmly.

Waiting him out. 

The exhalation, when it finally happened, left his chest aching. _You’re not going to find a way out of this_. Empty, he formed the words. “Now are you gonna take the farm or not?”

The second time around, and nothing had changed. Nothing _could_ change. But it flashed through his head regardless, whether somehow, behind the compulsion, Katie _was_ aware after all. And he wondered…he wondered whether she ever _would_ have changed her mind. 

Or whether, in some strange way, by holding him so unflinchingly to what had happened, giving her death a cold deliberateness that it had lacked the first time…

“No,” she told him. “No, Robert, I’m not.”

…she had managed to win, in the only way she still could.

*****

The ground was hard under his feet, and every time he took a step it jarred through his whole body. There was something wrong with his eyes too – the village seemed hazy and indistinct, like he was seeing things in soft focus. He knew the sign for the salon said _Beauty & Bernice_, but here and now it was just a pink blur his gaze slid across as he aimed himself toward the figure approaching from the opposite end of the street.

Aaron slowed and then stopped as they came within speaking distance of each other. But Robert kept going.

“What” –

He kept walking until he was body to body with Aaron, his hands coming up –

_(His hands coming up to pull the door shut, hold it closed against the thump of Katie’s fists on the other side. He knew her phone had fallen out onto the dirty floor behind him, but his body had that dream-heaviness, out-of-sync with his racing mind. He couldn’t make himself turn around._

_He rested his forehead against the wood of the door. Kept talking, in hopeless hope of something. A delay. A stay of execution. “I know you hate me now – and I don’t blame you. You’re not my favourite person in the world anymore either…but it doesn’t have to end like this.”)_

– to wrap around Aaron’s middle. Aaron stood stiff for a long moment before his body softened. Even then, there was a wariness to the way he returned the embrace, his hands a barely there pressure against Robert’s back. 

His voice mimicked his cautious touch, “Are you alright?”

_(“Right, I’ve tried giving you what you want,” he found himself saying. “If you’re not going to take it, then you give me no choice.” It came out as a plea, as he reached out – a brief, shocking moment of contact as he put his hands on her narrow shoulders to send her stumbling backwards._

_She looked at him, breath coming faster now, but still unyielding. “To do what? What – burn me alive? See, I’m not scared of you anymore.”_

_His throat was tight. “You should be.” He reached out again – and pushed her to the floor)_

Robert let his head drop onto Aaron’s shoulder. Remembered saying, blackly appropriate, “It’s fine. As far as I’m concerned, it’s forgotten about.” He coughed out a mangled, shaky laugh.

_(He kept backing her further inside the room, shuffling forward on feet that felt like they’d been filled with sand. “This is your last chance, okay?” It was hard to hear anything over the rushing sound in his ears. The wind, he thought._

_Katie looked at him, raising her eyebrows as he shook his head, mute. He was the loaded gun, but she was the one who had a finger on the trigger. “I’m leaving,” she said, and started forward._

_…Bang)_

Aaron’s hands firmed into a solid presence, moving in small circles against his back. Robert breathed in the sharpness of hairgel, washing powder, the familiar smell of Aaron’s skin. He closed his eyes. 

_(When he looked over the edge – another inescapable compulsion – Katie was sprawled below, surrounded by bits of glass and wood. Not on the floor, but on a bed. It should have broken her fall, but her head lay lifelessly, open-eyed upon a pillow instead._

_The way the light fell, the clearest thing was her face, her fanned out hair – and Robert still couldn’t look away from the unnatural stillness of her._

_But he knew, somehow, that the bedspread was purple. A multitude of purple squares, shading from pale to dark)_

He breathed in and out, in and out. He could hear Aaron swallow, shift his weight from foot to foot, a slight, subtle withdrawal. “Robert,” he said. And again, when he didn’t respond, “ _Robert_ …you’ve got to let go now.”

He pulled back, but kept his hands on Aaron’s waist. “No.”

A flicker of something crossed Aaron’s face, too quick to read. Exasperation, maybe, or frustration. But he only sounded resigned when he said, “Can’t you see it yet? What just happened…with Katie – you need to stop. _You can’t change what’s happened_.”

“That’s alright. I don’t need to change it,” Robert told him. He could feel the bones of Aaron’s hips against his thumbs, the sturdiness of his body an anchor. “I’ve just got to remember it.”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron scoffed, but gentle. He jerked his chin at something over Robert’s shoulder. “And how’s that going for you?”

This time, Robert didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to – what would he see? A street with gaps in it, like missing teeth, as his mind tried to sweep away the pieces of this memory? Some bizarre hybrid of places his subconscious had mashed together? He didn’t care about that. It wasn’t important. He kept his hands, his eyes firmly fixed on Aaron instead. 

He didn’t move. He didn’t look away. 

A few seconds later, he was standing alone. 

Unbelieving, he looked up at the sign on the stone building ahead of him. The words came into sudden, sharp focus -

_ DINGLE & DINGLE _

_CAR SALES – PART EX._

_SERVICES - REPAIRS._

_TEL. 01756 959372_

Only to vanish, neatly, line by line.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Aaron Livesy has never heard of afterglow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er...Robert's got a brand new pair of roller-skates, Aaron's got a brand new key? 
> 
> Thanks to pheobep and momecat for the help :)

It’s too hard, Aaron’s mouth unyielding against his, cheekbone like stone where Robert’s nose is pressed against it. But before Robert can adjust his position, relax into it and coax Aaron’s lips into something other than obstinate inflexibility – it’s over. 

Aaron wrenches himself away, breaking their contact. It’s just a step, then two. It isn’t as if Robert had even had enough time to get used to the sensation of kissing Aaron (or being kissed _by_ Aaron – because, in fairness, during the scant seconds their mouths had been attached, Aaron had shown a marked disinterest in the more collaborative aspects of kissing).

He still feels bereft, heart shuddering in his chest when Aaron moves back. He’s panting, and it pulls Robert’s attention to his mouth, red and parted. He stands there, staring at Robert – and Robert can see the exact moment when the mixture of anger and sexual tension that’s been steering for the last couple of minutes, shifts. His whole face opens into something more uncertain – the blue of his eyes sharpening into a clear ‘the _fuck_ did I just do?’ expression. 

Robert breathes in the smell of rubber and petrol. _No_. That is _not_ how tonight ends. 

He takes a step forward, right hand hooking around the back of Aaron’s head to pull him closer – and maybe it’s only surprise that makes Aaron stumble forward, hands coming up to steady himself, splaying out against Robert’s sides. Maybe not though, because when Robert leans in and kisses him, rather than pushing himself back, Aaron’s fingers curl in the fabric of Robert’s jumper, keeping him more firmly in place. Behind him, Robert’s other hand scrabbles blindly for the handle of the car door, eventually yanking the thing open with an awkward tug. 

_This_ is how it’s going to end.

Aaron pulls back, eyes flicking to his for a second that’s more fraught than it should be, given that he’s just let Robert lick his tongue – but then he’s lunging forward again, mouth fierce on Robert’s, and only breaking apart when he hauls Robert’s jumper up and over his head. Robert reaches out to unzip Aaron’s hoodie, even as he turns them in a shuffling circle, the better to manoeuvre Aaron toward the worn and stained backseat of the Allegro. He presses a hand against Aaron’s chest, black t-shirt warmed by the skin under it. It’s a hint that, like magic, Aaron actually takes for once, holding Robert’s gaze as he sits into the car, before lowering himself onto his back.

Robert follows.

In spite of the fact that the exterior of the car stretches out like used chewing gum, it’s cramped in the backseat – Aaron has the bulk of the room, and Robert manages to perch one knee in the space between Aaron’s, and one, more precariously, on the very edge of the seat. The carpet smells like wet dog. Aaron pulls at his shoulders, one hand on the back of his neck as he draws Robert down. 

The kissing still hasn’t softened into anything as straightforward as sweetness – they’re both too wound up for that. He can feel Aaron’s teeth against his lower lip, his fingers digging into Robert’s side, his back, twisting in his hair. The roughness can’t even be passed off as passion, or if it is, it’s a kind Robert’s never experienced before – and he’s had his fair share of casual sex. No one night stand has ever touched him with this kind of intensity. 

There’s _nothing_ casual about this – and Robert gets the feeling that he’s not meant to like the scrape of Aaron’s fingers, and that he definitely _wouldn’t_ like the stinging aftermath of having his hair pulled…if he could just stop, for even a second. But he can’t, because he’s too busy giving back as good as he’s getting – shoving Aaron’s t-shirt up under his arms so that he can get his hands on bare skin, pressing kisses like accusations against Aaron’s mouth. 

Fury – that’s the closest word for what this is. Resentment is thick in the air, alive on Aaron’s tongue whenever Robert deepens the biting little pecks Aaron’s bestowing on him. It’s – it should be offputting. Unsettling. 

It’s not.

Because Robert _gets_ it – his own hands are on Aaron’s body like sandpaper, palms scraping over his chest, his stomach, rasping over the combination of smooth skin and raised lines beneath his fingers, like his goal is to rub right down to Aaron’s bones. He feels it too – anger, swollen and irrational…toward Vic, and Diane and Adam and Andy – and most of all, toward _Aaron_. Everyone and anyone who stood in the way of _this_ happening, who delayed it by a day, or an hour, or even five extra interminable seconds. It’s probably just the lengthy lack of anything but his own right hand speaking – but it feels like something’s been purposely denied him, kept from him. Something vital and basic, like water, or food. 

He grips Aaron’s hips, relishing the press of Aaron’s cock against his stomach. Aaron’s hard – for _him, because_ of him, and it gives Robert a surge of furious triumph. 

He and Aaron could have been doing this _ages_ ago. Instead of spending this long on a car neither of them has ever given half a flying fuck about…they should have been doing _this_. The thought of all that wasted time sends another flush of anger through him.

Maybe Aaron’s pissed off about the same thing.

Doesn’t much matter. It’s happening now. He pulls back, sitting back as best he can without knocking his head – crooking his fingers into Aaron’s tracksuit bottoms, impatient to progress this to the next level. Only to stop. It’s not that bright inside the confines of the Allegro, but the garage light is shining in through the windows, and with Robert sat up on his knees, it’s easy enough to make out the thin lines sliced into Aaron’s stomach, his torso.

It’s so incongruous he just looks at them without understanding for a second. He knows the scars are there, that they’re real – can even conjure up the feel of them under his hands…but he’d been noting them without actually _noticing_ them, then. He glances at Aaron’s face like he’s trying to match it with this strange discovery. 

It’s not much of a pause, consisting as it does of _see scars, look up_. He doesn’t even know if Aaron’s clocked the reason for his hesitation, but maybe the hesitation itself is enough for Aaron’s expression to immediately waver toward ‘having definite second thoughts re: sex in hand-me-down car’.

That decides it. “What you waiting for? Lift up,” he says, pulling the waistband of Aaron’s tracksuit bottoms out and up, then letting go so that it snaps back. He raises his eyebrows, and lets the flat of his palm rest warm and unmoving against Aaron’s trapped erection. Every little helps, and seeing as Aaron’s currently flat on his back, it’s a safe bet that his brain’s not running the whole show right now.

Aaron stares up at the car roof, breathes out…and raises his hips.

It’s just a handjob, and it should be stripped down to the unapologetic get-your-rocks-off basics by the shabby surroundings (put it this way – he won’t be bringing Chrissie to _Dingle and Dingle Automotives_ for a romantic night out anytime soon), but there’s something riveting in the sight of his own fingers wrapping around Aaron’s cock. Everything – from the way Aaron’s hips push up into his fist, to the way his head tips right back, lips pressed tight like he’s fighting to keep the small breathy sounds he’s making deep inside – it all just gets to Robert. It holds the entirety of him tight in its grip, like a sickness. 

“You know, I’m not saying you should raise the roof or anything, but feel free to make a bit of noise,” he says, mostly for the quick flash of Aaron’s eyes the words give him. “Don’t think anyone’s gonna want a guided tour at this point.” He places his free hand on Aaron’s thigh. Feels the minute jerk and tightening of muscles under his fingers as Aaron’s whole face twists up, breath coming fast and harsh, whole body tensing as he spills over Robert’s hand.

As he wipes his palm off against the seat, Robert adds reupholstering the inside of the Allegro to the ever-lengthening to-do list – before grabbing Aaron’s hand and pressing it against the front of his jeans. The sensation’s dulled by the denim, a vague pressure he can’t help but push into all the same, because the sight of it – Aaron’s palm so close to his cock – just stokes him even higher. The fumble of his fingers at his fly, and then his underwear is almost unbearable, before Aaron finally manages to draw his cock out. Robert has to close his eyes for a second when Aaron finally begins to touch him in earnest.

There’s a simple explanation, really. He can’t even remember the last time he’d had sex – then add that to Aaron stringing this attraction out to the nth degree. _That’s_ why everything seems so heightened, so _much_. But while it’s happening…while it’s happening…

It still feels like he’s never wanted anything – any _one_ – quite like this before.

Afterwards, lying on top of Aaron, breath and heart rate quietening, Aaron touches his back. More hovering over his skin with the pads of his fingers than an actual touch, really, a spidery, barely there contact – the polar opposite of the take-no-prisoners aggressiveness that got them here. It’s just for a second, before Aaron moves his hand away. Robert turns his face, brushes his mouth against Aaron’s ear. Teases, “Is this the deluxe service then? Because if it is, I have to say, I don’t mind shelling out for it.”

Now that the edge has been taken off, he’s in the mood for something slower, more languid. His thumb strokes against Aaron’s stomach – sweeping indiscriminately over scar and untouched skin, as he smiles into Aaron’s cheek and says, “Should I even ask what you do for tips?”

Aaron shifts under him, hand coming up to tap his shoulder. “Get off.”

Robert leans back a bit, smirks at the obvious set-up Aaron’s just handed him. “Funny,” he says, “I thought we just did.”

Aaron stares at him for a second, before shoving at him, attempting to get past. Which, given that they’re sardined together in the backseat of a car, goes about as well as anyone might expect.

“Hang on, will you?” Robert complains, trying to untangle himself without cracking his head open. Aaron just pushes him onto the floor and keeps wriggling his way out of the Allegro, like a determined salmon. 

Apparently, Aaron Livesy has never heard of afterglow.

When Robert finally unwedges himself from the tunnel between the front and back seats, Aaron’s already got his tracksuit bottoms pulled up, hoodie re-zippered. He looks strangely untouched. If Robert didn’t know what had just happened between them, he wouldn’t be able to tell. 

It’s cold in the garage, Robert realises. Aaron doesn’t look at him as he picks his jumper off the floor and pulls it on. “Mind telling me what all that was about?” he demands, jerking his head toward the car as he refastens his jeans.

“I’ve got to go,” Aaron informs him, and Robert’s fingers pause on the top button.

“What – right _now_?”

He sort of shrugs at Robert. Robert waits, but apparently, this is all the answer Aaron’s offering. And – nonchalant is _fine_. Nonchalant is even Robert’s personal preference…but there’s nonchalant, and there’s… _this_. “First time you’ve mentioned it.”

“So? Didn’t realise I had to clear my social calendar with you,” Aaron says, oddly combative for someone who’s all but tapping his foot off the floor, waiting for Robert to clear out. 

“I’m not saying that, just…s’a bit sudden, isn’t it?” He’s not even pissed off so much as wildly confused. It’s the same jarring, out-of-nowhere sensation as missing a step on the stairs. 

“I’m going out.”

“Oh yeah? Where?” It’s another unexpected swerve, but Robert brightens, because the prospect of flirting with Aaron, in a dark, quiet corner of some bar where neither of them knows anyone…well, it’s not his first choice, but it’s up there. And – well, it doesn’t exactly rule out any of his front runners happening later.

But Aaron immediately shoots him down. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

This whole situation is slipping out of his grasp and he can’t even figure out when it happened, or why. His mouth feels like too-tight elastic when he makes himself smile. “Is that your way of saying I can’t handle my drink? Give me a chance…I might surprise you.”

“Doubt it,” Aaron tells him. “But – seeing as you asked. I’m going out to a gay bar. To be publicly gay. Just this thing I like to do sometimes. Save you a seat, shall I?” He cuts his eyes at Robert. “Yeah. Thought not.”

It’s like the words dry up in Robert’s mouth. Because _obviously_ he’s not going to sit in some gay bar with Aaron, like...like…

It doesn’t matter. What _does_ is the fact that less than five minutes ago, he and Aaron were in the backseat of his crappy car. There’s no way they’ve moved from _that_ to _unsalvageable_ without him even realising it. There’s just no way. 

He takes a step closer to Aaron. “ _Or_ ,” he says, dropping his voice low, “You could stay in. Why bother wasting all that effort, when you’ve already got everything you need right here.”

Which…bit of an exaggeration, because _Dingle and Dingle Automotives_ isn’t exactly ‘all mod cons’, but it gets his point across, he thinks, and he’s already considering what happens next. His hand curving around Aaron’s arm, Aaron’s mouth soft and unhurried against his this time –

Aaron looks straight back at him. “Who says it’ll be a waste?”

 _Did I do something wrong?_ The words are vibrating on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t ask. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, but there’s no way he can say that after Aaron’s basically told him point blank that he’s going out to find someone else to fuck. 

Instead, he settles for a laugh and a shake of his head, paired with a goading, “So this…fuck and run. That a signature move of yours, then?”

“Picked it up from an ex,” Aaron tells him, and _shit_ , this guy – _again_? He’s beginning to see why Aaron’s family have been driven to extremes. _Robert’s_ sick of him, and he doesn’t even know him. 

“Can’t imagine that got him many repeat performances.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised,” Aaron mutters, then, with a small, impatient movement of his hands, “Now are you going, or what?”

*****

Outside the garage, they walk in silence, but when Robert makes no move to cross the street to Keeper’s Cottage, Aaron rounds on him. “What you doing? I thought I told ya” –

“All right – keep your hair on!” Robert says. “Or am I not allowed have a drink in my local now? Is that somehow going to ruin all these _plans_ you suddenly seem to have?”

Aaron just shakes his head, rounding his shoulders and quickening his pace so that he’s a few steps ahead of Robert – like Robert’s some dodgy bloke in a dirty mac who’s just asked Aaron to come a bit nearer. It’s not even that he _wants_ a drink – just, heading back to Keeper’s _now_ smacks too much of slinking away, tail between his legs. Besides, he’d already said, before…it had been what started this whole thing, really, his determination to browbeat Aaron into sharing a pint. The realisation has an odd kind of distance to it – like he’s looking at it through glass.

In spite of Aaron’s little manoeuvre, when he enters The Woolpack, Robert’s close enough behind him that he can see Chas’ smile waver into a grimace a split-second after she glances over his shoulder. She’s collecting glasses from one of the empty tables, and she says, “Oh. Right,” like Robert’s some dirty laundry Aaron’s dragged in with him, though she rallies with a determined, “So – what can I get the pair of you?”

“Nothing,” Aaron says, “I’m not stopping.” He keeps walking, not even pausing, pushing through a knot of people that includes David-from-the-shop and Victoria’s friend. 

“As ever – a pleasure,” Emmerdale’s Clark Kent mutters, as he wipes the resulting slop of drink from off his shirt. 

Chas twists her head to follow his progress as he disappears out the back – before turning back to Robert with a deceptively mild, “Well,” that’s belied by the satisfied clink of the glasses as she puts them down behind the bar.

“Pint – I mean, if that’s not too much _trouble_ ,” Robert says – and this, this should be _him_ having one over on _her_ , it should be game, set and match to Robert, because he’s just _had_ Aaron in the backseat of the world’s shittiest car – and there’s nothing Chas Dingle can do about it. She doesn’t even _know_ , which should add an extra kick to the situation, because in theory, he’s holding all the cards and waving them under her still-oblivious nose. 

But instead, he’s stuck watching the quirk of her lips as she tuts and says, “Oh – don’t tell me you and Aaron have had a falling out?” She picks up a clean glass and starts to fill it. “Shame.”

He only stays for the one, though the desultory conversation he strikes up with David-from-the-shop and Victoria’s friend ends up being slightly more interesting than he expects, when he discovers that he and Finn share a mutual appreciation of Death Note. 

“I prefer the comics, obviously,” Robert tells him, and Finn stares back with an arrested look on his face, before abruptly deciding, “You know…I’m not a proud man – and there’s no shame in enjoying a good rerun. You were saying?”

David shifts on his feet as they debate anime versus manga endings, the movement of a man who is the clear odd one out in the current conversation. Finn gets very geeky and fervent while they argue the morality of L and Light – and it’s interesting, yeah, but also annoyingly exhaustive. Robert keeps losing the thread of what’s already been said. A small part of his attention remains focused behind the bar the whole time, eyes keeping track of whenever someone ducks in from the backrooms. It’s always Chas, or Diane, or Doug. He finds it easy enough to cry off when his pint’s gone. 

At home, Vic and Adam are perched on the sofa, mid-Transformers movie, and Robert throws himself into one of the armchairs. Vic keeps asking questions and looking for clarification, though she doesn’t seem all that invested in the answers, leaning back against Adam.

“So, that big battery, right” –

“S’not a _battery_. It’s the All Spark, babe. Come on – you’ve seen this before.” Adam stares at the screen, runs a hand through her hair. 

“Yeah – and I didn’t understand it then, either. So, the big battery…”

Robert’s leg jitters, and he taps his fingers against the side of his seat. 

A couple of minutes later and as Megan Fox limply admires a double pump carburettor, the camera slides greasy-smooth over her out-thrust arse and tanned stomach. Victoria snorts.

“Oh she _really_ sounds like she knows what she’s talkin’ about.”

“What?” Adam turns to her. “You sayin’ Mikaela’s not allowed to be fit _and_ talented? That’s sexist, that is.”

“Funny – that’s _exactly_ the word I was looking for. And excuse me, what talent are you talking about here – or should I just guess? Cos it definitely in’t acting.”

“You heard her,” Adam defends. “She could take his engine apart, and then put it right back together again.” He pauses, grins. “Have to say, I wouldn’t mind her giving my engine a tune up sometime.”

Vic’s eyes slide over to him, unimpressed, and she one-ups him with, “Well, next time you’re due for a service, you know what to do, don’t ya? Ask Cain or Aaron to put on a bit of a show for you!”

Robert uses the arm-rests of his chair to shove himself to his feet. “I’m going to bed.” Two pairs of eyes look over at him, and he gestures at the TV. “This is complete rubbish.”

“Oh wow – cheers for the opinion, mate, not that anyone asked you,” Adam says.

The last thing he hears as he exits the room, is Vic saying, “Hang on – you know when she popped the hood…was she looking at Bumblebee naked just then?”

*****

Get in, get off, get out. That’s always been Robert’s M.O. when it comes to one night stands. It’s never been something he’s needed to dress up with hearts and flowers – he’s fine with the stripped down, basic version.

Sex. That’s what it’s about. That’s _all_ it’s ever about. 

Get in, get off, get out. 

And – being perfectly honest…that’s all the majority of one night stands deserve. It’s no-strings-attached sex with a stranger – it’s not going to be perfect. Half the time, it’s not even going to be anything anyone could objectively call good. It doesn’t matter, because the surrounding circumstance (knowing he’s not supposed to be doing this, doing it anyway and knowing he can get away with it) well, _that_ always gives the sex a boost of adrenaline, euphoria – even when the actual fucking falls short. 

So good, rushed, indifferent, downright bad…it’s not really that big a deal, given the unspoken assumption both parties have that if there isn’t already someone else in the picture, there very soon will be. Of course, the key word there is _unspoken_. Robert’s never actually turned to the person he’s just had sex with, and flat out told them that. 

Which, all right, bit of blunt force trauma to the ego there – he can admit it. _But so what?_ It was a quickie in the back of a car…and not even the back of a half-decent car. Aaron’d seemed satisfied enough when he’d been coming over Robert’s fist. And what did it matter anyway, whether the encounter had lived up to Aaron’s (apparently exacting) standards? The important thing was that, even if it had ended a bit more abruptly than Robert had expected, at least it still followed the approved script.

Get in, get off, get out. 

Except Robert was _there_ , and he knows it wasn’t _like_ that. The sex was...he tries the word ‘good’ though that doesn’t quite seem to describe it. It’s like trying to make a single sheet stretch to fit a king-size bed. But _obviously_ it was good, because otherwise, why would Aaron’s sudden shutdown be such a cold-water shock to his system? All right, it hadn’t been the most considerate sex ever, more about taking than giving – but there’d been an honesty to that. They’d been wholly, selfishly in sync - and Aaron’d been just as into it, every bit as desperate and wanting as Robert – that wasn’t even a question. It had been – good. 

Until – Robert frowns up at the ceiling. Until _afterwards_ , when Robert had been flirting, gearing up for round two – and touched off one of his scars. _That’s_ when Aaron had got all weird, pushing him away and spouting stuff about his ex. 

It’s a disquieting thought – Aaron’s ex…and those scars. It goes against the image he has of Aaron, strongminded, stubborn, an unbudgeable, attractive pain in the arse. But then…Robert’s felt the scars – and when he’d talked about his ex, Aaron’d said it, flat out – _occasional psychopath_. Robert had thought he was exaggerating at the time…but, maybe he hadn’t been. Underplaying it, if anything, going by the number of raised lines cutting their way across his body. If Robert’s guessing right, his ex was a full on knife-wielding sadist, no ‘occasional’ about it.

And, it would explain a _lot_ – including his family’s overprotectiveness and willingness to inflict violence on anyone who so much as looks at Aaron crossways. Robert’s been putting it down to general Dingleness (which, there’s probably at least an element of that), but – this makes sense as well. Too much sense.

The thing was…until that moment when everything’d gone wrong, it had been _good_ – better than good. More than that, it had been _real_. Aaron’d been _present_ in that garage, that hideous car…and he’d been touching _Robert_ , not some ex. You couldn’t fake that kind of in-the-moment connection – there hadn’t been any ghost or memory fogging up the space between them. Which meant that, Aaron’s mini-freakout at the end excluded, what had happened…had been about the pull between him and Robert.

As explanations go, it’s a relief. Pride restored, Aaron’s sudden about-face accounted for…and a good time was apparently had by all. 

Robert closes his eyes. 

Opens them a second later. Blows out a breath.

The kind of time he wouldn’t mind repeating, to be honest. Maybe minus the smell. And in slightly more upmarket surroundings. 

Get in, get off, get out. It’s safe. Sensible. Probably the best way of handling these situations.

Not the only one though, is it?

*****

He stops at the café the next morning.

Bob’s arranging some knobbly looking snacks at the counter, and as his wife (Robert wants to say…Belinda? Betsy?) prepares two coffees for takeaway, he asks, “How’s your old banger doing?” with a friendly wink.

Robert blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“Your old banger?” Bob looks back at him. “The car? Heard you found a fixer-upper…and ah, that you and Aaron are making a-a real go of it.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, you know – anything to keep busy in this place,” Robert says, as he hands over his money.

When he looks up, Bob leans in close to him. “I told you, didn’t I? All coming back to you now, eh?” The smile on his face is like an elbow to the ribs.

“Very Celine Dion,” Barbara(?) approves in her soft, girlish voice.

Robert glances between the two of them, and decides, “You can keep the change.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s very” – as Carly appears at Robert’s shoulder, Bob whips the tray off the counter, one arm curling protectively around the misshapen rounds that reside upon it. “I thought you had work,” he says accusingly.

“Yeah, I’m off to the shop now,” she tells him. She tosses a glance at Robert and asks, “How’s the car? Aaron managed to get your motor running yet?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, elbows on the counter as she cranes forward. Bob immediately turns his back. 

“It was just one stupid comment, Dad. Believe me, David’s not interested in taking you down from the inside.”

“You can never be too careful, when it comes to business,” Bob tells the wall.

“Fine. If you want to play it that way,” she says, and this time, she twists across Robert to address an older woman deliberating at the display fridge. “We do the same as those in the shop, you know,” Carly calls. “Only ours are a quid cheaper. And they’re cruelty-free.”

“Ey!” Bob says, spinning around.

“It’s an oatmeal breakfast bar…isn’t it? I’m sorry, but I don’t _quite_ see the cruelty?” the woman says.

Robert tries to catch – Bonnie(?)’s eye, and fails.

“How about – to your digestive system?” Carly says. She clears her throat at the blank stare she receives. “Right, well – uh, all _our_ chocolate chips are…” she plucks a term at random, “– free range.”

“What are you talking about? Don’t listen to her!”

“Spoken like someone whose oatmeal is factory farmed,” Carly crosses her arms and tsks.

Robert tries to angle in toward Birdie(?), who is watching the exchange with wide-eyed wariness, Robert’s coffees clutched in her hands. “Yeah, if I could just get my” –

“That’s a lie!”

The woman’s head swivels between Bob and Carly. “D’you know…I don’t think I’m that hungry, really,” she decides, before scuttling away.

Bob glares at Carly. “You know, a bit of friendly competition’s one thing – but deliberately alienating potential customers? That’s – that is _low_ , that is.”

“Hey!” Robert resists the urge to click his fingers. Just barely. “ _Actual_ customer here, waiting for his order?”

“Yeah, looks like you can do that all by yourselves,” Carly observes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! Here you go!” Bertha(?) apologises. As she finally hands over his coffees, she tells him, with deep sincerity, “And I do hope you enjoy your tinkering!”

*****

From what Robert knows of Aaron’s schedule, he should be at the garage on Friday morning, but when he drops by with the coffees, there’s no sign.

“Aaron not about?” He asks the gormless looking mechanic – Dan Something – but it’s Cain who answers.

“Not unless he’s playing hide-and-seek.” He glances up from his clipboard and gives Robert a long, even look, like he’s considering how many punches it would take to lay him out. Robert looks back, eyebrows raised, refusing to be intimidated. Cain probably looks at his granny like that.

“Only he said he’d be here this morning.”

“Looks like he’s stood you up then, doesn’t it?” Quick as a flash, he grabs one of the coffee cups Robert’s holding, and takes a noisy slurp. “Shame to let it go to waste, eh?”

*****

It’s a few hours later when he pushes open the door of The Woolpack to see a familiar figure at the bar. Robert pauses for a second, has to duck his head and fight down the grin that tugs at his face – _last night_ and _right now_ coming together and slamming into his chest with force. Aaron’s sitting stolid up by the counter, folded in on himself and as yet unaware of his presence, but Robert remembers Aaron laid out hard and wanting, and with every fibre of his attention focused on him.

There’s a bit of work to do, obviously, to get back to that… _casual_ , Robert thinks as he approaches the bar. That’s the key – not to make a big deal, no recriminations or heart-to-hearts about last night, just…business as normal, but tinged with just enough suggestion to keep everyone aware that the option of sex is still very much on the table. 

Aaron catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and his whole body changes, stiffens in awareness. 

“You all right?” Robert says, as if he doesn’t notice, sliding in next to Aaron. They’re not touching, but there’s a pulse down his arm, like all the hairs there are standing to attention. He nods at the bar, the glass in front of him. “Thought you would’ve got enough of all this last night.”

Aaron looks at him, then away, not getting it, but clearly not going to ask. 

“From your night out,” Robert adds. He scrutinises the side of Aaron’s face. “How’d you get on then? Meet anyone interesting?” He keeps it light, amused.

“None of your business.”

“All right – no need to get touchy about it,” Robert says, holding his hands up as if in surrender. “I was just wondering how they measured up, that’s all. Or… _not_ – as the case may be.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, takes a long swallow of his drink.

Robert lets a little incredulity slip into his voice. “Hang on – you’re saying you dropped me to go out on the pull – and then you never even scored?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Aaron says, voice gritty, eyes fixed on the countertop.

It’s too good an opportunity to waste, and fortunately, it’s still early enough that the bar’s nearly deserted. He gives a quick glance at the couple in the far corner, but they seem wrapped up in each other. It’s safe enough, even though that could change at any moment, and the knowledge adds an extra little thrill as Robert eases himself in closer, turning his body into Aaron’s. “You don’t have to. But don’t worry – I’m not going to hold it against you.” He drops his voice, and speaks right into Aaron’s ear, “Unless you ask me nicely, of course.”

He watches Aaron swallow, the small workings of his throat. There’s only a second of hesitation before he says, “Come on.”

It’s happening quickly – but Robert feels impatience stirred in with the anticipation as he follows, ducking behind the bar, out to the back rooms. And when Aaron seems to lose steam, stopping dead on the patch of corridor right before the stairs, Robert wastes no time in giving him a verbal nudge. 

“I take it your room’s up there?” he indicates the brown-carpeted staircase, glances behind him. That’s the thing about opportunity, it’s important to make the most of it, not stand around waiting until someone interrupts and the moment disappears.

Aaron’s got his back to him, head down, and one of his hands resting on the newel post, fingers gripping the round topper. He doesn’t move as he speaks.

“What?” Robert says, because even though he’s heard it, it’s like his ears have rejected the word.

“I said _no_.” He does swing around to face Robert then, as they stand in the narrow space between the staircase and the back wall. 

It’s a mistake. A misunderstanding. 

“Yeah, well, nice as it is to know you’re the adventurous type, I’m really not up for semi-public nudity, so…” he trails off meaningfully and lets his eyes drift upwards. 

“No.” Aaron shakes his head. “No to _all_ of it.”

His stomach clenches. “Right, so…what was all this then?” He gestures at their surroundings without breaking eye-contact with Aaron. “Bringing me back here. Or do you just like leading people on? Give you a kick, does it?”

Aaron’s lip curls, and in spite of his lowered voice, anger threads through his words like a growl. “Don’t flatter yourself. I brought you _back here_ to tell you that last night was a mistake, and it’s never gonna happen again. That clear enough for you?”

Okay. So, fuck casual. 

“Oh yeah. Crystal. Of course…I’m not sure whether to believe it or not, since last night wasn’t supposed to happen at all. I mean, at least…not according to _you_.” He turns one hand in lazy circles as he reminds Aaron, “‘I know what you’re after?’ ‘Take it from me, it’s never gonna happen?’ Ringing any bells?” 

Aaron looks away, down at the floor, jaw working. 

“Bit late to start drawing the line now, is what I’m saying.” Robert raises his eyebrows, daring him. He hears Aaron’s breathing picking up, can feel his own deepening. He can imagine this playing out – Aaron’s hands fisting in his jacket, pushing him up against the wall. 

Thanks to last night, they both know how _that_ one ends.

He can see the effort it takes for Aaron to reply, his temper straining at the leash. “Yeah, well, you got what you were after, didn’t you? So now, you can drop it.”

Robert stares. “You think I'm laying out _ten thousand_ for a quick fumble in the backseat of a car?”

“Well, you definitely aren’t laying it out for the _car_ , are you?” Aaron tells him flatly. And all right, he’s not exactly _wrong_ , but it sounds bizarre and oddly – exposing – just thrown out into the open like that. Instinctively, Robert twists what Aaron’s said to flip it back at him. 

“So – ten thousand. That the going rate for a handjob these days? I mean, no shame in rating yourself highly, but…it’s not exactly a buyer’s market, is it?”

“Well you should’ve thought of that before,” Aaron tells him. “Since it’s a bit late for a refund.”

His face is tense with determination, holding it together, and looking at him, Robert feels the anger leak out of him, replaced with a kind of bewildered confusion. Quieter, he asks, “Aaron…why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like _this_.” Robert waves a hand in front of him. Takes a breath. Casual hadn’t worked, and anger seems to have stalled out… 

He closes his eyes for a second. Tries honesty. “Look…believe it or not, last night came as a bit of a surprise to me too, all right?”

Aaron watches him, wary, but he doesn’t say anything, which Robert takes as a good sign.

“I get it, this is…weird. But it _happened_ , and we both wanted it, so…what’s the point in taking potshots at each other now? What’s that gonna accomplish?”

Aaron shifts from foot to foot, slight, but it softens his whole stance. And because honesty seems to be working so far, Robert takes a small step forward, reaches out to lay a hand on Aaron’s forearm. Aaron looks down at it.

“And listen, if this is about those – scars, well…it’s alright, okay?”

“You what?” Aaron frowns.

“Last night. I couldn’t help noticing,” Robert makes a sort of gesture toward Aaron’s midsection. The words are awkward in his mouth, but he tries to make his voice as calm and non-confrontational as possible. “And I just…wanted you to know that – you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, all right? Really. So, if that’s part of why you’ve been…off with me…don’t worry about it. Seriously.” He squeezes Aaron’s forearm gently. “I can handle it,” he tells him. 

Aaron’s mouth twists, face reddening. He shrugs off Robert’s hand. “You are _unbelievable_ , you know that?”

The air feels weighted as Robert digests the fact that that was clearly the wrong thing to say.

“Get out.”

“Aaron, just” –

“What – d’you want it in sign language or something? How about this – you need to _do one_ , while you still _can_. Got it?” He’s speaking through his teeth by the end, when he reaches out and shoves Robert, hard – though at the same time, his hands almost ricochet away from Robert’s body as soon as they touch it, like he’s made of molten metal, or something.

“What happened last night was a mistake,” Aaron tells him again, breathing hard. “And if I could go back in time and undo it, I would. In a heartbeat. But, since I can’t…as far as I’m concerned – it’s not just over…it never even happened. _You get me_?”

He steps back, still holding Robert’s eyes, turns, and walks off.

Robert lets his head fall back against the wall.

*****

It was a one night stand, not the crime of the century.

A one night stand that, you know, Aaron had seemed fairly on board with at the time, so Robert really doesn’t know where he gets off clutching his pearls like Robert ruined his reputation in the back of an Allegro.

Fine, he can admit it hadn’t been the most impressive venue – but that wasn’t _Robert’s_ fault. Not like _he’d_ told Aaron to shell out for a four wheeled national joke. 

And all right, obviously he shouldn’t have mentioned the scars, but, you know, he’s not a mind reader. He’d _tried_. Again, how is on _him_ that Aaron’s ex was apparently Freddie Krueger? 

Not to mention, while standard (handjobs in a car…no-one’s gonna need to consult the Kama Sutra on that one), the sex had been – really _good_. So all this ‘as far as I’m concerned, it never happened’ stuff…well, it’s a bit _much_ , isn’t it? 

And honestly, it’s not Robert’s problem. 

If Aaron wants to act like a complete mentalist, well – fine. That’s his business. This is exactly why Robert prefers his casual sex – what’s that word? – oh yeah, _casual_. So Aaron’s done him a favour, really. Saved him time and grief in the long run. 

Aaron wants to forget about it. No skin off Robert’s nose. 

Of course, Aaron does seem to have forgotten one tiny, insignificant two tonne issue. 

_Take it we’re not on for this evening then_ , he texts some time later.

Aaron doesn’t answer. Fine.

*****

Saturday night, he and Andy go for a drink in The Woolpack. It’s better than staying home for the ongoing nightly Transformers marathon (apparently, Vic’s lost a bet with Adam or something). It’s _Dark of the Moon_ tonight.

Besides, Aaron can’t avoid him forever. 

Except two pints in and there’s no sign of him. Not to mention, over the course of the hour they’ve been sat here, Andy’s conversation has slid slowly but inevitably Katiewards.

Yeah, he’s promised to listen, but come on. Andy really knows how to pick his moments.

Oblivious, Andy says, “It’s funny,” in a way that tells Robert that ‘funny’ is probably the last word he’ll use to describe whatever Andy’s about to divulge. “When Katie…when she died, it hit me all at once. I just _knew_ she was gone – like that. I never had those moments, you know, where you forget, and then it hits you all over again a second later.”

He takes the last gulp of his drink. “The strange thing is…I knew she was dead, I never _stopped_ knowing, but…every time I was in here, and the door opened…some part of me expected to see her, too. Or in bed – I’d be lying there, missing her…and I’d reach out to touch her. Like my brain knew but…my body didn’t. Like part of me was still looking for her.”

What’s Robert even supposed to say to that? 

_No, I don’t know? _

_No clue, but it sounds depressing as fuck, and that seems about right for you these days?_

_Congratulations, Andy, d’you want a medal or something to prove how much better you are at being in love with Katie than I was? _

He settles for, “I’ll get you another drink.” He checks his phone as he gets up. Nothing. 

At the bar, he squeezes in next to Jimmy King. Doug’s manning the bar, but he ignores Robert in favour of disappearing out the back with an attractive, dark-haired woman with a loud jacket and even louder looking earrings. Robert makes sure he doesn’t catch Doug’s eye as he goes. He can wait a minute or two for a drink if it means he gets to avoid the usual boring-as-balls chat with Diane’s significant other. 

Chas is down by the other side of the bar, talking to Paddy and a woman with brown hair and big, tired looking eyes – but she’s definitely aware of Robert’s presence, because she immediately raises her voice to say, “Oh yeah, he’s headed out again tonight.”

Oh. Just…fucking great. 

“Excuse me?” Paddy says, making it completely obvious that there’s been a topic-change purely for Robert’s benefit. Chas glares at him, and Paddy cops on. “Oh. Oh right! Aaron! Yes, it’s good to see him getting out there again – enjoying himself.”

“You’re only young once,” the other woman – Paddy’s wife, Robert presumes – agrees.

“Yeah, you gotta sow them _wild oats_ , don’t you?” Chas says, drawing the words out with loud relish.

Besides him, Jimmy King winces. “Blimey Chas,” he calls, “I don’t think they heard you in China!”

As she approaches with a smile, Chas says, “Well, it’s not _China_ I’m trying to get through to.” Her eyes slide over Robert. “Now, what can I get you gentlemen?”

Robert looks at her, then flicks a glance behind him, at Andy. 

Yeah. Another pint’s not really going to cut it tonight.

*****

The next morning, after he finally winces his way downstairs and into the kitchen, Vic asks, “So is this going to be a regular thing every time you and Andy have a heart to heart – the two of you getting paralytic?”

He wets his lips with a tongue that feels like it’s made of cheap carpet, and tells her, “Not now, Vic, all right?”

“I suppose it’s better than the bare-knuckle boxing. Barely,” she continues, relentless, “But I hate to break this to you, Rob – binge-drinking is not a coping strategy.”

It takes a certain amount of concentration to find the painkillers and fill a glass with water, so he waits until after the first swallow before telling Victoria, in a careful voice, “I’m not coping with anything.”

“Er – exactly my point!” Vic calls out, making Robert wince as he shuffles back out of the room, water clutched in his hand. 

The next time he wakes up it’s a bit better, a dull headache that ramps up to a squeaking pain every so often, and an intense lethargy he fends off with the help of Berocca. A hot shower later and he’s back to feeling somewhat human again.

Lunchtime is quiet, both due to his and Andy’s residual hangover and Vic’s residual pissiness. “Here, get this down you…and make sure you keep it down,” she tells him and Andy. “I’m not slaving over a hot stove all day for you two to spew it all up again.”

“It’s just a toasted sandwich,” Robert feels the need to point out. Andy casts a warning look at him, but – come on. If Vic slaved over a hot stove all day for _this_ , then she should really be reconsidering her career choice. 

She sits, arms crossed on the table and regards him and Andy as they eat. “You could at least have invited _me_ , you know.”

He and Andy look at each other before Andy offers, “Thought you already had plans.”

“Oh yeah. Watching a million fight scenes between robots I still can’t tell apart, or having a drink and a laugh with my brothers…no, don’t know which I’d choose.” She sighs, a put-out little-sister sound. “I mean, not that I’m condoning going out and getting bladdered every night or anything” –

Robert makes a face because _every night_ – yeah, way to exaggerate, Vic.

“– but at the very least we could do it as a family now, since you two’ve finally made peace.”

“Have we?” Interested, Robert dips his head, trying to make eye contact with Andy. “Made peace?”

Andy’s staring at his plate, but when he does look up, it’s square into Robert’s eyes. “We’re doing okay,” he decides finally. 

“Great!” Vic says, brightening. “Then it’s settled. Next time we go out, it’s all three of us – no leaving anyone out.” She gets to her feet and promises, or maybe warns, “And _I_ will show the two of _you_ how it’s done.”

Robert’s phone is on the table next to him, just in case. No messages, but it’s been two days – surely that’s enough time for Aaron to have calmed down. And Sunday’s a good day for working on the car – no need to arrange and rearrange times when Aaron’s not balancing life as a full-time scrapper/part-time greasemonkey. There’s only ten minutes to go until they should be meeting up. 

Robert opens up a message. Types – _We meeting up this evening?_

Looks at it, deletes. 

There’s something weirdly final about the words on the screen – and there’s no way he’s giving Aaron an easy out like that. He can either meet Robert at the usual time, or do the decent thing and phone to tell him it’s off – because surely he’s not going to just let Robert show up if he’s not planning on being there.

There’s only ten minutes left. He’s not going to call and cancel ten minutes beforehand. And if he does, well then–

In his hand, the phone starts to ring. He stares at the name on the display for a second. Of fucking course. It’s like he can _tell_ when Robert’s not operating at a hundred percent. He presses the button and brings it to his ear.

“Lawrence,” he says. Victoria whirls round from the sink, eyes widening. She stares at Robert, then mouths, _Lawrence?_ at Andy, who puts his head down, staring at the table as if awkwardly pretending he’s not in the room will actually make it so. 

“I thought it was about time we talked,” his father-in-law says, without preamble.

“And hello to you too,” Robert says. 

“Oh please, Robert, let’s not waste time on meaningless pleasantries. We both know the score by now.”

“Do we?”

“Well, if you don’t, you _should_. I hope you’ve been using this time away to think – because I believe it’s time that we began sorting the mess you left behind…starting with the business.”

“Oh – are things not going well?” Robert asks, with false concern. “Clients finally starting to wonder where I am, are they? Asking awkward questions? Suppose it was bound to happen eventually.”

He hears Lawrence laugh on the other end of the phone – dismissive. “Hardly. Difficult as it may be for you to believe, we’ve all been managing just fine without you.”

“Oh yeah?” Robert leans forward on the table. “Then why are you phoning?”

“My daughter may have to wait to divorce you – but when it comes to the business, luckily I don’t have to follow those petty legal requirements. So I’m calling to negotiate the formal dissolution of our business relationship. Obviously – since I really can’t think of another reason why I’d want to speak to you.”

Self-righteous, smug old bastard. Robert grits his teeth. “And you really think I’m going to – what? Just give up my share of the business, and play dead to suit _you_?”

Vic’s eyes are fixed on him, and she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. Andy’s looking at the pattern of his plate like it can tell him the future. 

“Oh, I’m not expecting you to slink away without a hefty financial settlement. No point in asking a leopard to change its spots, after all.” He lets the insult sink in before he carries on, “But I do hope that if you have even a shred of human decency, Robert, you’ll make this as easy as possible. Of course, I’m not _counting_ on that.”

“Easy? For who? You? Have to say, I’m not really seeing the incentive here.”

“I _meant_ for Chrissie,” Lawrence intones, voice resonant. “You know, my daughter – the woman you _claimed_ to love.”

The crafty old fucker – he knows just what to say to knock Robert back a step, dropping Chrissie’s name like a bomb. He knows Lawrence can hear his pause on the other end, hates how obvious it is to him that he’s got to Robert. “Yeah, well, she said she loved me too. Didn’t stop her chucking me out on the street without a word of explanation. _I_ could’ve done with a shred of human decency right about then.”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Out of the question,” Lawrence says, almost before Robert’s finished the sentence. 

“Fine. Then as company director, I suppose I’ll just put my feet up and watch the money roll in. The benefits of having an airtight contract, eh? Between that, and that cheque you gave me just before I left, I’m building up quite a little nest egg. Nice work if you can get it, I guess.”

“Robert” – and this time he can detect the thinnest thread of placation in Lawrence’s tone. Yeah – took him long enough. Too bad it’s way too late for that.

“No,” he says, and satisfaction twists hot in his gut. His father-in-law really chose the wrong time to poke him. Add the past couple of days to all the _years_ he’s been dancing to Lawrence’s tune, and he’s ready to go off. Beyond ready. 

“I’m done talking – well, to _you_ , at any rate. And I have to say, it’s quite a relief to know I won’t ever have to suck up to you again. Now I can finally tell you to your face how _sad_ and _pathetic_ you really are. You’re a lonely, desperate, _miserable_ old man who gets his jollies these days from trying to wreck his own daughter’s relationship. D'you know, I’m racking my brains over here, but I really can’t think of anything more _pitiful_.”

He takes one last second to savour it. Across the room, Vic’s mouth and eyes have formed three perfect ‘o’s. “If you’re serious about wanting me out of the business, tell Chrissie to call me.”

He hangs up. Stares down at the phone in his hand. 

The silence hangs in the kitchen. Andy’s still looking at the table, like this is the last place in the world he wants to be. Vic brings her hands to her face, covering her mouth and nose and breathes out. 

When she drops them, she says, “Not – entirely sure _that’s_ going to get you back into Chrissie’s good graces.” She swallows, tries for a lightness that comes out a bit shaky, “I mean, if it were _me_ , I’d have started with grovelling, and tried to work my way up to sweet-talk.”

 _Grovelling_. Robert shakes his head. It feels like there’s nothing but frustration inside of him, and it’s been lit, like kindling.

“Yeah, well, maybe they should be trying to sweet-talk _me_ ,” Robert says, gaze flicking between her and Andy. “I helped _build_ that business – gave _years_ of my life to that family. Then one day, Chrissie decides she’s done with me – no warning, and that’s _it_. I’m expected to just disappear to make everyone’s life easier. Like I meant _nothing_.”

All he gets from Andy is his bowed head. And even if she sounds sympathetic, Vic’s eyes slide away from his as she says, “I…don’t think it’s that simple, Rob.”

Fine. Not like he was expecting anyone to come roaring to his defence.

“Yeah, well, I’m not talking about it right now,” Robert says as he gets to his feet. “I’ve got better places to be.”

*****

The garage is closed, and Robert stares at the locked door.

He’s made it on time…a minute or two early, even – but Aaron’s not there. Aaron’s never been late before. 

First time for everything, Robert tells himself, and leans up against the wall. He checks his mobile – nothing. 

It’s obvious Aaron’s not showing up.

Five minutes later.

Ten. 

He doesn’t know why he’s still here. Probably not for some stupid fucking car he never wanted in the first place. 

Fifteen. 

He’d got what he wanted – Aaron’d said it…and it’s true. He’d only stuck this out as long as he had, because he’d wanted a fuck. And he’d got it…or close enough. So – there’s no reason for him to hang around some grotty little garage anymore.

He readies himself to push off from the wall. He’s going home. No point in wasting any more of his time.

It’s coming up on twenty-two minutes when Robert straightens, arms uncrossing as he catches sight of the figure making its way over.

He knows the exact moment Aaron sees him, because he actually stops for a second, before slowly resuming his walk until he’s finally only a few feet away.

They just stand for a moment, before Robert breaks the silence. “I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“Didn’t expect you to be here.”

Robert looks away. “Yeah, well – people kept asking me about the car. Bit weird to just drop it.”

“Not surprised. You practically took out an ad about it.”

“I think you’ll find that was Vic, not me.”

Aaron nods as if he’s absorbing what Robert’s just said. Though when he speaks, it has nothing to do with that. “It still stands, you know. What I said. Before.”

It’s Robert’s turn to take in Aaron’s words. Aaron’s still got his hands in his pockets, and he looks and sounds certain, unmoveable. Robert’s eyes skate over him, drinking in his face – his nose, the straight, determined lines of his eyebrows, the stubbled curve of his jaw – like it’s been a lot longer than two days since he’s seen him. 

“I heard you.” He clears his throat. Gestures toward the door. “So…you gonna let me in?”

Aaron regards him for a long, steady moment, before stepping forward, keys in his hand.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You gonna wake up tomorrow and make your way back to Emmerdale? Just walk into The Woolpack – the real one – and tell me you’ve made a mistake? That the plan, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I've almost run out of Terrible Things Robert Did that need to be memoryscaped. One more to go!

It was all happening so quickly. 

Inside the pub Lawrence said, “Look, may you continue to make her as happy as you already have” – and Robert leaned in to kiss Chrissie, even as his gaze slid over her shoulder, searching.

He pulled back and they were both in Home Farm, where Bob Hope wandered through to press a disposable coffee cup into Robert’s hands and promise him, “One _unforgettable_ Americano,” before meandering off again, pausing to wipe down a coffee table on the way.

Robert closed his eyes and said, “I just, I can’t stop thinking about Katie.” The words were like stones, each one a weight on his chest. In response, Chrissie pulled the sale of Wylie’s, asked, “Well, who’s gonna tell her then, you or me?” – and disappeared, as if in answer.

As Robert reached out to steady himself against the marble mantel of the fireplace, it resolved into a familiar set of dark wood double doors, his fingers suddenly closed around a brass handle. He took a breath, pushed it open, and stepped through. 

It was the expectation of seeing her that made it bearable – just about, made it possible for him to lick dry lips and push out the words, “I was hoping I’d find you.”

Katie asked, “How long d’you think you can hide it from her?” She wore a deep blue scarf and an expression of utter distaste. No prizes for guessing who that was directed toward. 

Robert watched her eyes, just the miniscule movements of her pupil and iris, as she scrutinised his face. That was all he needed to contradict the dead stillness of her in his mind…that was even now softening and blurring. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the horror of it anymore – which made it horrifying in a new and different way. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Well, sooner or later she’s gonna find out what a vicious, devious little man she’s married,” Katie told him, and pushed her way out of the double doors. Andy followed her, appearing at the door of the Ladies with a large cardboard box in his hands, and brushing past Robert as if he didn’t even see him.

A blink later, and he was no longer shielded by the pub doors, a cold breeze ruffling through his hair. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the coat he suddenly found himself wearing and called after his brother, “I was ah, wondering um, how you’d feel about-about being my best man?” His feet scuffed against the ground.

It wasn’t Andy who answered though, but Lachlan – who looked back at Robert, face inscrutable. He said, “I didn’t want to do it anyway,” and held up his hand for a high five.

And then it was him and Katie, alone outside the mobile home – though he ended up staring at the vista in front of him, rather than the woman off to his side. “Brings back all kind of memories…how much fun you can have in a caravan.” 

He’d only said it at the time to wind her up – because of course he had. He'd never been brilliant at restraint, holding back. Never really tried, to be honest. The wind stung his eyes, and as he looked out over endless green fields and overcast sky, he found himself saying, “ _I_ remember, you know. Hard to believe now – that there was ever a time when we weren’t at each other’s throats. But there was. And I remember it.”

It was far too late to be pulling his punches…

…but then again, maybe he wasn’t. Because as he said it, the cold truth of it seeped into his skin. Even as _this_ Katie was being wiped away, the Katie from years ago would remain, untouched by the procedure. _How much fun you can have in a caravan_. Of the two people standing here, he was the only one _left_ to remember that, now. He still couldn’t make himself look at her. 

“You know, you can fool them Robert. But you can’t fool me.” Her feet rang definite on the steps that led inside, and she was finally gone.

There was something small in the pocket of his coat, nudging against his fingers. He turned, and through a throat that wanted to close up with every word, he told the just-shut door, “You play with fire, Katie, and you’re gonna get burned.”

He pulled out the lighter, and flicked the sparkwheel.

He kept his eyes on the caravan as he moved backwards, until his legs butted up against what turned out to be a Home Farm sofa, and he sat. He continued watching, as Chrissie curled up next to him, seemingly oblivious to the flicker and snap of the fire raging in front of them. 

“It was a marker,” he said. “That’s what I’ve done today. I’ve laid down a marker of how things are gonna be from now on. Between me and them.” The words echoed out as he stared at the flames licking Andy and Katie’s home into a blackened carcass. 

When he turned his head, it was Aaron sitting next to him on the sofa, wearing his stupid hat with the enormous fucking bobble on it. Relief loosened his chest, even as a corresponding jolt of tenderness pulled it tight again. “Finally. I was beginning to wonder when you’d show your face,” he said.

“Really? Seems like you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” Aaron nodded toward the smouldering ruins.

“Not now, alright?” Robert said, as he shifted closer on the sofa. “We need to figure out what we’re doing, before all this,” he jerked his head at his slightly surreal mental landscape, “disappears. At the rate things are going, we’ve not got much time left.”

“You’re still on this?” Aaron asked. In spite of the fact that Robert had his whole body angled toward him, like a needy sunflower, Aaron remained resolutely facing forward. “There’s nothing _to_ do. How many times d’you have to hear it before it sinks in?”

“I don’t believe that,” Robert told him. “There’s got to be some way around it…a last call or – return policy…I don’t know, a cheat code, _something_.”

Aaron blew out an exasperated breath. “Look, even if” – and he stopped.

“What?”

He turned on the sofa, body mirroring Robert’s, one knee propped up on the cushions. “Let’s say you’re right, eh? And it turns out you get to keep,” he gestured between them with an open hand, “all _this_. Or some of it. Whatever.” 

He stopped and looked at Robert. “What then?”

“What d’you mean, ‘what then’?”

“You gonna wake up tomorrow and make your way back to Emmerdale? Just walk into The Woolpack – the real one – and tell me you’ve made a mistake? That the plan, is it?”

Robert’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Yeah. S’what I thought.” 

“Aaron…” Robert searched for something to say. Came up with the admittedly weak, “D’you really want to get into this right this second?”

“Why? Do I have to schedule an appointment?” He’d gone back to staring ahead again, doing that thing where he was talking to Robert, but only on a surface level – hiding inside a shell of toneless sarcasm.

“I’m fighting for you _now_ , aren’t I? What does that tell you?” It was rhetorical – the truth, yeah, but said mostly in a bid to claw back the ground he sensed he’d lost, to get Aaron back on board as quickly as possible, before the next inevitable scene change.

But Aaron considered what he had said, weighed it up. “It tells me you want me.” He shrugged, a small thing that served to downplay his next words, “Maybe, yeah – maybe you even think you love me.”

His eyes were steady on Robert’s face, and more than anything, Robert wanted to look away from that searchlight gaze, as Aaron decided, “Except you don’t. Not really. Because deep down, you don’t _want_ to want me. Because you don’t want to be gay. And I just. I can’t see anything changing that.” 

He waited, but Robert didn’t say anything – couldn’t, until Aaron braced his hands on his thighs and stood. He scrambled to his feet. “Aaron” –

He could see the defeat just from the set of his shoulders. “Just…forget it, Robert. All of it,” Aaron said, back turned to him. “Believe me, it’ll be easier that way.”

He sloped off toward the scrapyard portacabin, which had sprouted like a mushroom amidst the ruins of the caravan. Watery sunlight spilled over the ground, into Robert’s eyes as he stood there, dumb and alone. 

_Just forget it, Robert. All of it. Believe me, it’ll be easier that way._

He strode up the steps of the portacabin, yanked the door open and charged into – a hotel room. He ignored the incongruously opulent surroundings to focus entirely on Aaron, likewise contradictory in shirt, tie, and high-vis vest.

“I can’t,” he said. It felt like the floor was pitching under his feet and he reached out to touch Aaron. “I can’t forget this.”

“Not what it looks like so far,” Aaron said, stood there in the middle of the floor, face cupped in Robert’s hands – the stoic epicentre of Robert’s personal emotional earthquake. 

There was a knocking at the door.

“I don’t want to,” Robert amended, ignoring it. “I don’t _want_ to forget you.” 

Another knock. “Aren’t you going to” – Aaron began, eyes slipping to the side, but Robert shook his head, kept his hands firm on Aaron’s face.

He leaned in and kissed him then, as the knocking grew impossibly loud, a drumming that reverberated through the floor and rattled the windows. Robert couldn’t think, couldn’t hear what Aaron was saying – but the words didn’t matter anyway. “I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, voice lost in the ceaseless noise. “I’m not giving up that easily. Not without a fight, at least.” 

Aaron shifted as if to move back, but Robert grabbed tight to the sides of his high-vis jacket, as momentum, something like a rippling shockwave sent them tumbling and rolling, over and over – and it wasn’t until Robert felt the pressure of the mattress against his back that he realised they were no longer vertical, that their clothes were gone, and they were skin to skin. 

And then it was soft focus, hazy and impressionistic – the curve of Aaron’s ear, the smooth thrust of his hips, the drag of Robert’s mouth against his skin. And somewhere in the middle of this, at almost the same instant, they both realised the knocking had stopped.

Aaron stared down at him, arrested and uncertain in the sudden silence. Robert looked back, took in the rise and fall of Aaron’s chest and matched it to the sound of his breathing. Slowly, he slid his hands along Aaron’s arms, up to his shoulders. “I do love you,” he told him. “I know you don’t believe me, but I do.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showin’ it,” Aaron said, but he bent down to kiss Robert all the same.

“I love you,” Robert said again, the words half muffled by Aaron’s mouth.

Aaron drew back. Laid a hand against his face and told him, “Just. Shut up, yeah?”

“I love you,” Robert insisted. He wrapped himself around Aaron like a ribbon around a present – the insides of his thighs pressed tight against Aaron’s hips, and his ankles crossed over each other at the back of Aaron’s legs as if to prevent his escape. His hands gripped Aaron’s sides, his back, so hard he was probably leaving marks. And he still kept trying to pull Aaron closer, like there might be some way of getting Aaron so deep inside his skin there’d be no way for anyone to dig him out again. 

“I love you,” he spoke into Aaron’s ear, mashed the words against Aaron’s temple. “I love you.”

Aaron pulled away, detaching himself from Robert’s clinging limbs despite Robert’s best efforts, and shuffled back until he was nearly at the edge of the bed – a different bed, Robert realised. A different, earlier memory, despite his best efforts.

“Aaron” – he scrambled to his knees, but Aaron stopped him, pinning him in place with nothing more than his expression. Halting and careful, he said, “Yeah – um, look. What you said to me about…you know…not giving up. Well – it meant a lot to me.”

He was looking at Robert as if he were the only person in the world who mattered, and this – this was _his_. This _had been_ his – how could he ever have brushed it aside? Aaron, all spiky protective shell, choosing to split himself open, to reveal his closely guarded, shining centre. To Robert. Who’d taken it as such a _given_ he hadn’t even acknowledged it.

Now he crawled across the sheets on hands and knees, until he was in front of Aaron. Told him, “I’m keeping this,” when what he really meant was – _let me keep this, please_.

Aaron’s eyes flicked to the side, then back to Robert. “I see you’ve not decorated,” he said.

They were in the barn, the sheets now sacking, laid over straw instead of a mattress – and Robert’s phone lying between them, chirping as it received yet another accusatory message. Lachlan. The hospital. Chrissie’s tearful voice. The ultimate wakeup call – back to his real life, his family. 

Robert didn’t move.

Aaron nodded toward his mobile. “You might want to get that. Fairly sure it’s important.”

“Yeah, spoiler alert – it all works out, whether I’m there or not,” Robert said. He licked dry lips. “Thought I’d stay here this time.”

“Cos it’s not like we’ve tried that already.”

“Just because you couldn’t do it, doesn’t mean I won’t be able to,” he contended. “You can’t expect to get it right on the first go. Ever hear of a little thing called practice makes perfect?”

“Except you left. So there’s no memory _here_ for you to practice on.”

“Then we’ll _make_ one. A new one. Can’t be that hard, can it?” Robert said. He shifted closer on the scratchy sacking. “I mean, you, me – a barn…practically writes itself, doesn’t it?”

It didn’t come out as confident as he wanted it to, and the tension in Aaron’s body remained as Robert curled a hand around his upper arm and kissed him. Still, even his rigidity was a kind of reassurance, proving as it did his continued presence. Robert’s fingers skated up and down the bumps of his spine, and he murmured against the underside of Aaron’s jaw, “See? You’re here. You’re still here.” 

His heart kept hitting against his ribcage. They could do this.

They could really do this.

“Robert,” Aaron said. He touched his shoulder. “ _Robert_.”

He looked. The barn was on fire.

Flames curtained all four walls, the door, towering from ground to ceiling, leaping from bale to bale with relentless ease. They were being encircled, surrounded…but all the while, the fire was oddly, terrifyingly noiseless. It made it seem like a sentient thing, a soft-footed predator. 

Robert twisted his head. There was no way out. 

He couldn’t breathe. He turned back to Aaron. “It’s all right,” he said. He felt mad with fear, his whole body clenched tight with it. “It’s gonna be alright. This isn’t…it’s not _real_. It can’t hurt us.”

With nerveless fingers, he pushed Aaron onto the floor, covered him with his own body. It was true. He knew it – this couldn’t be real. Heat scorched his back, crept along the floor where he put his hand down. 

“As long as we stick together, everything’s gonna be fine. Okay?” He pushed his face against Aaron’s. “Just…just stay. _Please_ , don’t leave me.”

He’d squeezed his eyes shut, but he could feel Aaron’s nod against his skin. “It’ll be okay,” he said, _kept_ saying – gasping out the words. His fingers clutched at Aaron like a lifeline – a drowning man in a burning building. 

Then his fingers were grasping at sacking and straw.

Robert opened his eyes, scrabbled to his knees, alone. “Aaron? _Aaron!_ ”

The harsh air rubbed his throat raw, stung his eyes. His patch of floor was an island being eaten away by the sea of flames. This was how his mum had felt, in her last moments – exactly this desperate, this terrified. And he couldn’t bear to know that…not even for a minute, a second. He pulled in as deep a breath as he could without coughing. “Aaron? _Aaron!_ Someone – _help me!_ ”

The tech appeared just off to his side. She looked down at Robert, taking in the sacking and straw. “Swanky,” she said, before glancing at the raging inferno around them with mild interest. “You know, maybe I spoke too soon. With material like this, you definitely had a shot at cracking my top ten weirdest.”

“You’ve got to help me.”

A spark landed on the sleeve of her white coat. She beat at it without batting an eye before holding out the blackened material to Robert. “Would you look at that – there’s a hole now. No saving it.” Then, at Robert’s look, “Oh. I thought we’d been through all this. I _can’t_ help you.”

“No, _no_ – there’s got to be _something_. Something you can do. Some way out.” Smoke caught in the back of his throat and he began to cough. “Please!”

“It’s not my fault you signed away part of your life like it was an iTunes agreement.” She shrugged. “Anyway, even if I wanted to help you, I can’t. Figment of your imagination, remember? Right now, I know as much about neuroscience as you do.” 

She squinted up at the ceiling. “That beam’s gonna go any second – d’you mind if I go now? Nothing personal, only I’d rather not burn to death someplace I don’t even belong.”

Through watering, searing eyes, Robert stared at her. Choked out, “Say that again.”

She made a face. “Too late.”

He looked up. The beam fell.

*****

“– ding cats,” Lawrence said. Heart still jackrabbiting in his chest, Robert leaned both hands on the table in front of him as his soon-to-be father in law continued, “- they've got so much free booze inside them!”

“Well at least they’re enjoying themselves,” Chrissie called as Lawrence retreated. She turned to Robert. “Unlike you.”

She glittered tastefully in his peripheral vision, and he turned his head to look at her. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You seem a bit quiet – are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m” – he stopped. As always, Chrissie looked perfect, nestled amongst the rich furnishings of Home Farm, elegant and stylish. A murmur of restrained conversation surrounded her like expensive perfume. Given pen and paper, he couldn’t have come up with a better description of everything he’d ever wanted…and yet even at the time, half of him had been somewhere else.

He shook his head. “No – no, I’m not okay. I’m sorry – I’ve got to go.” He staggered through the party on knees that hadn’t quite firmed up yet, the room darkening behind him as the guests began to chant “Ten, nine, eight” –

No New Year, and no fireworks – just Victoria barring the entrance to The Woolpack like a tenacious, silk-jacketed guard-dog. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m a terrible person…can we not just do all this later, Vic?” he said, gaze sliding over her shoulder as the door opened and Aaron appeared.

“– wish you’d never come back,” his sister finished. As she turned back into the pub, she told Aaron, “Make sure he doesn’t get in.”

And they were alone. Aaron looked at him in wary-eyed silence before he said, “I see you made it out okay.”

Robert tried a smile that kept slipping on his face, like a too big piece of clothing. “Not so much as a scorch mark.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked away. “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t” –

“It’s all right,” Robert told him – a tremor of excitement running through the words. “Because I’ve figured it out.” Aaron frowned at him, and Robert pulled at his sleeve, tugging him outside. “Come with me.”

Aaron resisted, staring down at the ground. “Robert…”

“Come on – what you waiting for?” He took in the refusal written in every line of Aaron’s body, the way he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Did you not hear me? I know what we have to do now.”

He didn’t move.

“It’s really simple. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” he said, throwing the words out like breadcrumbs, trying to tempt Aaron into curiosity. “All I’ve got to do is hide you” –

“Great. More hiding,” Aaron told the ground. He nodded. “Sounds like your kind of plan, all right.”

Robert waited for a second. “Is that it? Are you done complaining? Can I finish? Right – like I was _saying_ – I’m gonna hide you somewhere you don’t belong. Somewhere they won’t be looking for you – inside a memory they won’t think about erasing, because it should have nothing to do with you. And that way – I’ll still be able to remember you tomorrow.”

No response.

“Aaron, _please_.” He glanced around, on the alert for the smallest changes, anything that might signal a shift in this memory. “We’re running out of time, and I need you on board for this.”

Aaron finally looked at him. “Why?”

“Because…” His mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the words. “Because…” His hands opened and closed at his sides, grasping. Aaron stood implacable, waiting, and he tried again. “Look – what you said, earlier…about what’s going to happen in real life” –

He had to concentrate to remember what exactly Aaron _had_ said – it was like trying to read a water-stained page. Slowly, he said, “I can’t promise you that I’m gonna show up at your door tomorrow. I don’t know if I will. I wish I could tell you that you won’t regret this, and that it’s all gonna work out. But – the truth is, I don’t know if it’s going to.”

“Hard to say no when you put it like that,” Aaron said, voice flat.

“But I want the _chance_ , at least.” Robert held his gaze, didn’t blink. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe I don’t come after you. Or maybe I do – and you slam the door in my face. But the thing is…even if I never see you again…I don’t want to forget you.” 

His eyes traced over Aaron’s face. He couldn’t explain the feeling he had – that by giving in, he wouldn’t just be letting Aaron go…but a part of himself. Like he would be doomed to live the rest of his life like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, with one vital piece missing. He settled for repeating, “I don’t want to forget you.”

Aaron looked away, staring off to the side for an interminable moment, cheeks rounding as he blew out a long breath, before deciding, “All right.” He turned back to Robert. “Show us what you’ve got.”

Robert could feel the grin spreading across his face. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do, is it?” It was the Aaron-equivalent of whole-hearted, rapturous agreement, and Robert found himself smiling impossibly wider. 

“Okay,” he said, reaching out to catch hold of Aaron’s hands. “Okay,” he said again. Checked, “You ready?”

Aaron made a small, impatient motion with his head – a nonverbal ‘get on with it.’

Robert took a breath, and closed his eyes.

Opened them.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Face it, Aaron – you’re here, because some part of you _wants_ to be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *weeps bitter long-winded tears*
> 
> So yeah, obviously some things worked out differently because the Whites left after the affair came out...but Alicia still ended up in Portugal, for plot purposes. IDK.

So they go back to working on the Allegro – and true to his word, Aaron acts as if nothing ever happened between them.

Meanwhile, Robert looks at the car, and thinks about sex. 

Aaron talks about wire-wheeling the inner rim, and Robert remembers the sensation of the Allegro against his back while they were kissing. Aaron brings up the possibility that the wings might have been painted with an underseal before they were sprayed, and Robert nods and thinks about lying on the backseat, Aaron’s dick in his hand. Aaron mocks up the replacement wing, and Robert takes photograph after photograph with his phone and imagines sucking Aaron off, the floor hard against his knees, the clench of Aaron’s fingers in his hair.

It’s a silent protest. Defiance. Aaron pretends they’ve never so much as touched each other, so Robert pretends he knows exactly how it would feel to sit in the passenger seat, fingers digging into Aaron’s hips as Aaron rides him to gasping climax. Aaron might be able to scrub his own mind clean of their encounter – but he doesn’t get to police _Robert’s_ thoughts. 

_So there._

It’s a bit of a hollow victory to be honest.

The only thing that signals any lingering awareness on Aaron’s part is how he suddenly starts treating Robert like an actual customer. All shoptalk…when he bothers to talk at all. Also he starts cutting their sessions short toward the end of the week – presumably in favour of going out and painting Hotten red. Robert doesn’t ask. Not until Friday evening, when, as they’re packing everything away, Aaron says, “I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

It’s tossed off like an afterthought, but Robert translates it. “Meaning you’re not planning on being around tomorrow.” No point in beating around the bush.

“ _Meaning_ I’m not planning on working on your car tomorrow,” Aaron corrects. “Problem?”

“No. Not at all.” Aaron’s vanishing act of last week, coupled with the current rickety peace, has made it more than clear that Robert’s not _allowed_ to have any problems. He tacks on a smile. “I suppose you’ll just have to have a drink with me tonight, then. To make up for it.”

“Can’t,” Aaron says. He’s standing by the door of the garage, and he jerks his head toward it in silent suggestion. “Busy.”

Robert doesn’t move. “Come on, Aaron – I’m trying to put this behind us. The least you could do is make an effort.”

Aaron has perfected an expression that manages to be both blank and aggressive at the same time. “Put what behind us?” he asks.

*****

He can’t face the pub after that – well, more Chas Dingle’s smug face and brick-to-the-head remarks, so he trudges the short distance back to Keepers instead. It’s empty and dark when he gets in, everyone else having apparently followed Aaron’s lead and fucked off for the night.

Robert lets the kettle blare itself to a boil in the silence – makes himself a cup of tea before settling onto the sofa and flicking through the channels. Even Andy appears to have found some alternative to sitting at home, watching _Storage Wars. Andy_.

Fuck – the people Robert is currently watching argue over containers full of secondhand tat…even _they_ probably have somewhere better to be at half past eight on a Friday.

He and Chrissie used to do that stuff. Drinks, meals out, weekend breaks…not all the time, but often enough. They’d always taken the time to enjoy the good things they’d been working for. Made space to appreciate each other, to treat each other right. So much so that even the nights they ended up staying in were their own kind of luxury – all low lighting, cosy surroundings, quality bottles of wine. Money’s not just what’s in your wallet – it’s a lifestyle. 

Which is proved by the fact that he’s sitting in the semi-dark on his little sister’s sofa watching the televisual equivalent of McDonalds. 

It’s more than that, though. It’s not having someone sitting next to him, no body languid and warm leaning up against his – no one to take part in private conversations and jokes. No one to share a drink with. 

He finds himself wandering into the kitchen, and then back into the sitting room – picking things up, putting them back down again. He has to fight down the sudden sense that nothing he does even counts if he hasn’t got someone there to see it. That _he_ doesn’t count. 

He’s never been any good at being alone. Low level dread plays like background music, like he’s living a life with a hole in the middle. 

He has a shower, and stretches it out to fill the time. Digs out a battered looking box of Twinings from the cupboard and forces down a chamomile infusion. Lies in his single bed in the dark, while his mind drifts past the four walls, far away from Keepers Cottage and into unnamed pubs and clubs – all loud music and overpriced drinks, eyes fixed on mouths moving in inaudible conversation, the heady mix of various colognes and hairgel, bodies pressing close in crowded spaces. 

In the end, a combination of turned on and pissed off, he has to stop and wank – though annoyance and a vague sense of how pathetic the whole thing is strips the act of most of its relief. And then it’s just him again, alone in a too small bed, ears alert in the silence for the sound of the door. 

All the while, constant as a dripping tap, the thought in his mind is - _this is not my life_.

*****

The next day, he bumps into Victoria in the kitchen, and out of nowhere she throws up her arms and says, “Right – that’s it! _Out_.”

“What?”

“Sorry – am I not being clear enough?” And then she puts her hands on his shoulders and attempts to actually steer him toward the door. “Go!”

He digs his heels in. “What? Where?”

“Anyplace I don’t have to trip over ya every time I turn round – I’m really not fussed. Don’t you have car stuff to do, anyway?” She doesn’t wait for his protestations, just sends him packing

Outside, a breeze numbs his ears, sends chilly tendrils prying down the neck of his coat, forcing him to hunch his shoulders and shove his hands in his pockets. The garage is all closed up, obviously, and beyond that, it’s _Emmerdale_. Casual alcoholism is really the only option, entertainment-wise. 

And yet, he finds himself walking past The Woolpack. His feet swallow up ground until he’s outside the village, until it’s just him and the sound of his own steaming breath, the rustle of swaying branches, birds calling to each other in the distance. Eventually, Home Farm comes into view, spread out in front of him like an ad for _Country Living_. 

He just stands and stares at it for a long time, before he turns back.

*****

Understandably, the whole situation puts him on edge.

Aaron texts him Sunday morning to confirm that they’re working on the Allegro later that evening. It should be reassuring, but it feels like another dig – there’s no _need_ to text, since it’s always the same time. All it does is point out that he’s something to be scheduled for Aaron, as opposed to a comfortable part of his routine. Robert preferred it when it was just a given that they’d be together from five till eight. 

Then, as soon as he steps inside the garage, Aaron cuts across Robert’s greeting to set out tonight’s agenda (taking out the driver’s seat and beginning repair work on the front floor pan). He might as well get a banner made up that reads _This is Strictly Business!_ He’s actually already started on the seat, leaving Robert to stand around like a spare part. When he runs into a stubborn bolt that forces him to turn and grab the WD40, his face is closed off, a secret Robert’s not allowed to know. 

It makes him flick the question, “Good night?” like a spitball at Aaron’s head.

“What’s it to you?” His immediate live-wire wariness is perversely soothing. It gives Robert the confidence to spread his hands inside the pockets of his jacket – make a bit of a show of it as he says, “Er, making conversation? Maybe you’ve heard of it.” 

Aaron grunts in response. 

He waits. “So?”

“What?”

“The big night out. How was it?” Robert keeps his gaze fixed on Aaron, eyebrows raised, until with a small, irritable huff, he gives in.

“It was alright,” he says – a sentence so fucking opaque it could mean anything. He gestures toward the car with the hand holding the spraycan. “That it? Happy now?”

Robert plasters on a smile. “Yeah. Great.”

*****

“– would have been knee deep in it at this stage. Rewiring, flooring – and getting the farm in order, too,” Andy says. He’s progressed from hopeless fantasies of alternate timelines to the hopeless renovation of his and Katie’s derelict dream home.

It’s…something, Robert supposes. More of a move-sideways than a move-forward, but still. 

“Mmm,” he half-agrees, and takes a drink. Glances over Andy’s shoulder toward the bar. They’re in a corner of The Woolpack, doing their usual drowning of Andy’s sorrows. Even though Andy’s sorrows all wear lifejackets and can breathe underwater. “Not counting the setbacks and arguments, of course.”

Andy shakes his head. “We’d have pulled together – too much to do to waste time arguing about it.”

He’s on the verge of drifting a bit, but it’s a ‘what if’ that pulls Robert back into the conversation, because it doesn’t quite ring true with what Diane’s said to him. Not to mention, it’s not the first time he’s seen reality blur at the edges where it touches the memory of Katie, creating something softer, more idyllic…

…incredibly unconvincing.

It’s possible Andy honestly believes it, of course. But it’s also very possible he’s sticking his fingers in his ears in time-honoured Andy fashion, and it’s that that makes Robert throw a handful of grit into the glitter. 

“Because home repairs _always_ bring couples closer together. Face it, you’d have been sure to have had at least one screaming row by this stage.”

“We were together this time. On everything,” Andy says, with certainty. “The farm, the house…the lot. There’d have been no stopping us.”

Robert’s got _‘Tell that to the contractors, builders and plumbers you’d have been dealing with_ ’ on the tip of his tongue, when there’s a sudden bray of laughter from the counter. Christ, even Adam Barton’s laugh is obnoxious – has it _always_ been this grating? Certainly, neither of his companions seem to find it a turn off. Vic leans up against him, and Aaron – well, Aaron’d buggered off early specially for _this_. Which is maybe even more insulting than the possible stranger-fucking in Hotten – Robert hasn’t decided. 

“–s how I know that, no matter what, she would’ve kept me on track,” Andy finishes soft-voiced, before he frowns and asks, sounding a bit more normal, “Is everything okay?”

Robert realises he’s drumming his fingers on the table, and he’s managed to tune out whatever anodyne ‘Katie was amazing’ anecdote Andy’s dredged up this time. “What? Yeah. Yeah. Fine.” He clears his throat. “Right. Just…who are we talking about again?”

Andy stares at him. “ _Katie_.” 

And look – it’s not that Robert expects him to be cured of his broken heart after a couple of conversations. Andy’s lost the woman he was meant to be spending the rest of his life with – a brutal, sudden blow. However long it takes, he deserves the chance to work his way through that grief.

The problem is… _that’s not what Andy’s doing_. 

“Katie? Are you sure?” Robert says. Decade long absence or not, he still _knows_ Andy, knows exactly how he works. Most likely he should bite his tongue, let this pass. He probably would, even though it’s been chafing at him for a while. But it’s nine o’ clock on a Thursday night and Adam Barton laughs again, and somehow, _that’s_ what tips Robert over the edge. “I mean – I hadn’t seen her in a long time, but I think I’d have remembered a halo.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a question, but judging by the pull of his mouth, some part of Andy suspects. One more subtle confirmation of Robert’s ‘head-in-sand’ theory. At the very least, he must realise the gloves are coming off. 

“I’m saying that if you’re gonna spend the rest of your life missing her, at least have the decency to miss _her_ , not some perfect stranger you’ve made up inside your head.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.” He leans in, lowers his voice. “Andy – you’ve been talking about her for the past hour…and I haven’t recognised Katie _once_ in anything you’ve said.”

Andy looks back at him, jaw working, suddenly aggressive. “Yeah, well – why would you? She was _my_ wife. She was _nothing_ to you, and _you_ were nothing to her – hadn’t been in years.”

He can tell that, to Andy, it’s a sledgehammer blow – the worst thing he can think of to say. But it barely glances off Robert’s skin…because it’s true. He’d had serious feelings for Katie once, but now that’s just a twinge of ancient history. No point in pretending otherwise.

“You’re right,” he says, because this time, he’s not instigating a pissing contest over a woman he hadn’t seen in over a decade. This is about _Andy_ , and the way he talks about Katie, like she’s a princess in a fairytale instead of a real woman. “But, be honest – if Katie was listening to you, right now…would _she_ know who you meant?”

Andy looks at him, and warns, “Let it go, Robert. You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know that people aren’t perfect – even if you love them. And pretending that Katie _was_ – well, that’s not helping you, Andy. And I don’t think it’s doing _Katie’s_ memory any favours, either.”

The scrape of the chair against the floor is loud, and Robert braces himself when Andy places his hands on the table, knuckles white with tension.

But all he says is, “Just because _you_ don’t miss your wife…” before striding away, pushing through the doors of The Woolpack.

Robert glances up, expecting to find Vic’s disappointed face, a flash of Aaron’s impassive eyes…Adam’s…whatever it is Adam does when faced with a situation too complex for his ‘See Spot Run’ levels of understanding. But no-one’s even noticed.

Well – not exactly no-one. Chas Dingle swoops over to pick up Andy’s abandoned glass, and comments, “That famous Robert Sugden charm is working overtime tonight, I see.”

*****

_Let it go_ , Andy says, inside his head. But come on, if Andy can’t – why should _Robert_ have to?

Aaron’s phone vibrates as a message comes in, and even though Aaron just gives it a cursory glance before putting it down again, he finds himself asking, “Don’t tell me that’s last night’s leftovers?”

Aaron frowns at him and says, “What?” officially giving him more attention than whoever just texted. It’s probably just his mum. Or Paddy.

“Come on, it’s obvious you’re not going out on the town every night just for the atmosphere.” Being gay in public is one thing – but Aaron’s practically a living _monument_ to homosexuality at this stage. “It’s all right.”

“Oh well, once you approve,” Aaron mutters into his mug. The mid-session tea-break’s been reinstated again, which Robert supposes counts as progress. Common sense dictates that he should keep his mouth shut right about now.

Aaron’s mobile vibrates again. Adam, maybe. Cain, or one of the numerous Lesser Dingles that seem to make up half the population of Emmerdale. 

“Bit clingy though, whoever he is. I wouldn’t have thought you’d go for that,” Robert says. Carefully amused, a bit disparaging. “Must be serious.”

He waits for Aaron to disabuse him of the notion that this mystery texter is anyone important.

“Not seeing how it’s any of your business,” Aaron tells him instead. Right. Not denying it then –and not really confirming it either.

“It’s not,” Robert agrees. “I’m only asking – no need to get defensive about it.” 

“I’m not. Just find it a bit weird. You always this nosy about complete strangers’ sex lives?”

Even provoking Aaron into saying the word ‘sex’ in front of him feels like a triumph. 

“You’re not a complete stranger, though, are you?” he points out. Aaron glances away. “And I thought this was what mates did – get all the gory details?”

He can feel Aaron bursting to say it, to tell him flat out – _I’m not your mate_ …though of course he _can’t_ , because that leads right back to the thing that Aaron’s pretending never happened. 

_Then what are you?_

Robert turns his mug in between his hands. “Don’t tell me you and Adam have never compared stories?”

Aaron levels a look at him. “About your _sister_ , you mean?”

He’s proud there’s only the slightest hesitation before he manages to recover. “Well, since I’m pretty sure that’s not Vic textin’, I don’t think we’ve got anything to worry about. Do you?”

Though it _could_ be Vic. Not like he has any fucking clue. 

Aaron puts down his mug and stands, a clear signal that the conversation is over. “Right,” he says, as he swipes his hands over his thighs, “After we get done with the front driver’s floor, we tackle the patches in the back, and then we’ll need to get started on a full stripdown.”

“Sounds good.” Robert gets to his feet, eyes Aaron while idly considering the phrase ‘full stripdown’. But it isn’t until he’s leaning in over Aaron’s shoulder to take the rusty before-picture that he says, “So – you and this Mr Serious…what did you get up to, then?” 

He can hear Aaron’s irritable, huffed out breath. “I dunno,” he says flatly, “All sorts.”

“Wow,” Robert says. “Kinky.”

He aims his phone and clicks.

*****

“Marlon’s having a meltdown.”

At the entrance to the sitting room, Andy pauses and glances around – as if he half-expects to see the man plonked in one of their chairs in his chef whites, gurning.

“Meaning, he had to leave The Woolpack early for…whatever reason,” Robert clarifies. “Which is why Vic’s working late.”

“Oh. Right,” Andy says. The incident in the pub lingers in the air between them, like stale sweat. Andy’s watchful, kicked dog eyes jerk away from Robert, and he’s already on the move as Robert tells him, “She says there’s stuff in the fridge, if you’re” –

Andy’s already gone.

“– hungry,” he finishes anyway. He gives himself a second before launching himself to his feet and following.

He leans against the doorjamb and watches Andy spread mayonnaise and mustard on bread, so engrossed in the task it’s easy to tell he’s hyperaware of Robert. Who lets the silence stretch out until any speech has to come as a welcome relief, then says, offhand, “Bit of a martyr, don’t you think?”

“Vic?” Andy lays slices of tomato over the ham (“ _Proper_ ham. None of that packet stuff, thank you very much”). He doesn’t make eye-contact, but offers, “She’s a chef – suppose tryin’ to feed everyone comes with the territory.”

Robert shakes his head. “I didn’t mean Vic.”

“Then who are you talkin’ about?” he asks, though the way he’s paused is proof he already knows.

“Who’d you think?”

There’s a clank as Andy sets down the knife on the sideboard. “I thought I told you to drop it.”

“And I will,” Robert says. “If you can tell me one thing Katie did that annoyed you. Just one. That’s all I’m asking for.” 

He waits, but Andy remains silent, fingers clenching on the countertop. 

Nasty versus Nice, Bad Son versus Good Son – Robert falls into his assigned role with the ease of long-familiarity. The thing is, though – the game of Petty Rob versus Noble Andy isn’t _always_ about scoring points.

“Fine…if you really _can’t_ think of anything, then I guess it’s my turn. Remember how Katie’d get so fixated on doing the ‘right thing’, she’d end up ignoring that it made her completely miserable until it was too late? That ring any bells for you – because it definitely does for me.”

 _Sometimes_ it’s more about being cruel to be kind – and Robert leaves unsaid that perhaps the most significant ‘right thing’ she’d stuck with past the point of reason had been her first marriage to Andy. And that, good intentions notwithstanding, Katie’s stubbornness had been one of the things that had made that particular bad situation even worse. 

Suddenly, Andy swerves around to face him. “You know, every time – _every time_ – I start to think that maybe you’ve changed, you go and pull something like this.”

“What?” It’s Robert’s turn to be thrown off balance, and Andy presses his advantage.

“It’s always the same old games with you, isn’t it, Robert? It’s like you can’t stand the idea that me and Katie were happy, so you’ve just got to spoil it.”

It’s such a bizarre accusation that it takes him a second to respond. “Oh yeah, clearly I’m trying to drive a wedge between you and Katie, so that – what? You’ll divorce her in the afterlife? What’s my goal here, Andy?”

Andy’s breathing is loud, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, and he keeps his eyes fixed on Robert, like he’s some kind of predator that could strike at any moment. 

He softens his voice, overloads it with sincerity. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to _help_ you.”

Andy scoffs. 

“I am! Look, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with missing Katie” –

“Oh no – you just want me to list off all the bad things about her I can think of.”

“Just because she died doesn’t make her perfect,” Robert says. “And you don’t have to act like it does. It’s all right to miss her for who she really was – better, probably.”

“Are you saying I’m pretending, then? You telling me the way I feel is all lies?” Hard as he spits the words, there’s an earthquake tremor running just underneath, and he’s not crying, but Robert is drawn to the shine of his eyes. “I _loved_ Katie. I love her.”

“I know you did. Do. No-one’s saying” – Robert stops. Studies him. “Andy…however you feel – _really_ feel – that’s all right. Whatever it is. Even if it’s not perfect...or-or even _good_. You don’t have to hide it away. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love her.” 

He reaches out, touches Andy’s arm. “You don’t have to pretend – at least, not in front of me. You can tell me anything – and I promise, I’m not going to judge you for it.”

Andy looks down at his hand for a long moment. When he looks up, his face is pulled tight and hard. 

“I don’t think I want your _help_ anymore,” he says, shrugging Robert off as he leaves the kitchen, unfinished sandwich still on the countertop.

*****

“This ex of yours,” Robert says, and stops. The words echo in the garage, and Aaron stiffens, but Robert doesn’t say anything else. Not until –

“What?” It’s a warning, an ‘Enter at your own risk’ kind of tone. Robert just chooses to focus on the first part.

“ _Did_ he give you those scars?” He tries as hard as possible not to put anything in his tone – not judgement or horror or kindness – to keep it as matter-of-fact as an enquiry about the weather.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, just…the other day, when we” – he backtracks slightly under Aaron’s glare…but _Robert_ never signed on for a case of sexual amnesia. “ _After_ , you know, you seemed…” he makes an indeterminate hand gesture. Attempting to explain his point of view without setting Aaron off is like trying to avoid a maze of invisible tripwires. 

“…and I was wondering if that was why, is all.”

Aaron laughs, mouth twisting. “Of course – there’s gotta be some big trauma holdin’ me back. Because I’d _have_ to be mental, wouldn’t I? Not to jump at the idea of being your bit on the side.” He shakes his head and looks away.

Robert feels the need to point out, “You know, I don’t remember ever actually _saying_ that.” Can’t quite help adding, “I don’t remember ever asking you to be my bit on the side, either…you know, while we’re on the subject.” 

All right – he’d hinted at a second go-round…but it’s a bit of a stretch to get from _that_ to the ongoing-affair that ‘bit on the side’ implies. 

He’s absorbed in examining the line of Aaron’s profile, the set of his shoulders, and he almost misses it when Aaron says, out of the blue, “No.”

“What?”

“My ex. It wasn’t him.” The words hang in the air, and Robert tries to hold his eyes but Aaron looks away again, lessening the impact as he adds, “Emotional scars were more his style.”

*****

It’s easy enough to justify why the path to Home Farm becomes such a well-worn route. The need of all human beings for a certain value of exercise and fresh air, an occasionally less than scintillating _Tipping Point_ or _Countdown_ …the disheartening realisation that he, Robert Sugden, now has a marking system in place for episodes of _Tipping Point_ and _Countdown_ …

It makes sense that he finds himself staring more and more often at the tantalising sprawl of Home Farm – laid out in front of him like a reward, or an admonishment. He can’t decide which. 

It’s as he’s trudging back through the village after one such trip that he hears a, “Hey!”

He looks up to see Carly Hope bursting from the shop and beelining toward him at a rate of knots. “ _There_ you are!” she says loudly, as a blond figure appears at the shop door, calling after her.

“Is everything all right?” Robert asks. He glances over her shoulder. “I think David’s looking for you.”

“Nah – nothing important,” she says, with an emphatic shake of her head. And, as David calls her name again, “D’you want to buy me a drink? Right now?” 

She tucks her hand through the crook of his arm and says, “Bearing in mind that the correct answer – the only answer I’m accepting, really – is _yes_. Fair warning.”

She looks at him, expectant.

“Yes…?” Robert hazards.

*****

Inside The Woolpack Carly orders a whisky and coke without the coke.

“A bit early in the day, isn’t it?” Doug asks, sounding vaguely scandalised.

“What? I’ve just had a shock, and _he_ can afford it,” Carly says, gesturing toward Robert. “So come on – start pouring.”

He gives Doug a shrug of assent and orders a pint for himself. 

Ensconced in a corner a few minutes later, Robert watches her take a healthy swig of her drink and comments, “So, this shock” –

She taps the tumbler and tells him, “Drinking to forget.”

“To forget what? How to _walk_?” He raises his eyebrows as she takes another gulp. Her glass is almost empty already. “It must’ve really been something.”

“You have no idea,” Carly says, fervent. 

Robert glances up. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with David, would it?”

She makes a face. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“Because he’s just walked in, and he’s looking over here.” David’s over by the counter, sort of frozen, but at the same time poised as if movement is imminent, attention locked on their table. 

Carly shifts in her seat, grabbing Robert’s arm. “Quick – start talking about something personal so he can’t barge in!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! No, wait – tell me how things going with you and Aaron!” She widens her eyes at him and nods. “Make it up if you have to” – she looks him up and down, “– or not…I won’t judge.”

Robert frowns. “What? What d’you mean, ‘me and Aaron’?” –

It’s too late though, because that’s the moment David chooses to step toward them. Somewhat gingerly, Robert notices, and favouring his right foot. “Carly.”

“David.” She slaps on an inquiring look. “Everything alright?”

“Fine. Fine.” He gives the appearance of fidgeting, even though he’s standing quite still. “You?”

“Fine,” she agrees, spreading her hands as if in confirmation.

“Right,” David says. “Good.”

There’s a moment’s strained silence.

“Well – myself and Robert here were just having a drink, so…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I should…” David gestures toward the bar. Begins to back away.

Carly blows out a breath and begins to relax. “That’s it – keeeeep walkin’,” she says in an undertone.

“When you said ‘me and Aaron’, what did you” – Robert begins, only to stop as David wheels around. Limps back. 

“I just – thought maybe we should talk. About what just happened. In the – the shop. A few minutes ago.”

“I don’t,” Carly says, almost overlapping the end of his sentence.

David blinks. “You – don’t.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. No point. Waste of time. Forgotten already.”

“Oh. Right.” He opens his mouth, then closes it, clearly stumped.

“Well, if that’s all…”

“Yeah. Yeah, that was…it.” David stands by their table until finally, Carly twirls her index finger in the air – a less than subtle hint that he should turn and go. 

As he slowly stumps his way back to the bar, she covers her face and groans. “I knew it. I _knew_ he was gonna be weird about it.” She makes a noise in the back of her throat, then raises her glass in the air. “Same again, Doug!” she calls as she catches his eye.

Robert looks at her. It’s stupid, but – “You meant the car, right?”

“What?” she turns to him, confusion etched on her face. 

“That ‘me and Aaron’ stuff. You were talking about the car, yeah?”

“Oh. Yeah. Absolutely,” she says, adding absently as she cranes her neck to keep David in view, “If that’s how you want to play it.”

Robert’s heart gives a stuttering – _fuck_ – skip in his chest. At the same time he takes a breath, calming himself. Because it’s just a mistake – just one of those small-village misapprehensions whose origins are all too easy to trace. 

After all, private and closed off as he is, Aaron’s still out. And, as someone who’s been hanging around with him, Robert’s just been – unthinkingly lumped into the same category. It’s a bit _odd_ that it’s happened at all, since he’s wearing a wedding ring, but…no big deal.

No big deal – just…something he needs to clear up, obviously.

So he nudges a note into Doug’s hand as he drops over Carly’s drink, and then, after she clinks her fresh glass against his still mostly-full pint, says, “I think you might’ve got the wrong idea.” It comes out casual, conversational – exactly the way he means it to. 

Drink already raised to her lips, she makes an inquiring sound. 

“About Aaron and me.”

“Oh, right,” she says, and wrinkles up her nose as she takes another swallow. “Well – don’t enlighten me, will’ya?”

Mouth already opening to do just that, Robert frowns. “What?”

With a loose wave of her hand, Carly says, “An overactive imagination’s a terrible thing to waste, especially around here. Besides, the truth’s bound to be way more boring than the story I’ve come up with inside my head.”

It catches him off guard, her easy acceptance of being wrong, and at the same time, her just as easy dismissal of what he wants to say before he even speaks. 

He says it anyway. Obviously. “Well _clearly_ , seeing as I’m not gay and the only thing going on in that garage is car repair.” 

He lifts his pint to take a drink, and when he lowers it, Carly’s head is tilted, eyebrows drawn together as she looks at him. His gut tightens in readiness.

But all she offers is a mild, “See? Told you mine was better.”

*****

During his second drink and her third, it gets easier – as the story comes out and he gets drawn in, despite himself.

“How about now?” she asks him. “And don’t be too obvious.”

Robert risks a look. “No,” he says. 

“What?” she turns, only to twist back almost immediately as she meets David Metcalfe’s eyes. She slaps Robert’s shoulder. “You said he wasn’t looking!”

“I didn’t know you were going to start rubbernecking, did I? Easy!” Robert says, cupping a hand round his pint to defend it.

“I hope you realise it’s all your fault if he thinks I’m encouraging him,” Carly tells him, as she crosses her arms. 

“Er – he made eye-contact. I doubt he’s window-shopping for an engagement ring just yet.”

“Yeah – only because he’s too busy _stalkin’_ me.”

“Or having a pint in his local,” Robert devil’s-advocates, raising his own.

“He _followed_ me here.”

“Followed you…to his local,” he points out again. 

“What was all that then, about wanting to _talk_?” She shakes her head and decides, “No, he’s already fixated.”

Robert rolls his eyes. “ _Fixated’_ s overstating it just a bit, don’t you think?” Takes a drink and reminds her, “You did say you were the one who dropped the jar and” –

She cuts him off. “Yeah, _all right_ , I was there, no need to tell me what happened, Miss Marple. So what?”

“So maybe he wants to make sure _you’ve_ not got the wrong idea. Maybe he thinks it’s just as much of a mistake as you do.”

“Yeah, but…look at the evidence,” she says, a hand gesturing at her own face, clearly exhibit A. “I mean, you’ve gotta ask yourself, how likely is that? Really?”

Robert snorts.

“Well, come on, there’s no point in pretending, is there? I mean, you tell me – honestly – if it was _you_ , and you were in David’s position” –

“Yelling in pain because my employee’s just gone and dropped a jar of honey on my foot, right…” he nods.

“– working with someone who looks like _me_ ,” she continues, raising her voice in order to talk over him. “Are you _seriously_ telling me that you wouldn’t try it on?”

She raises her eyebrows and smirks as he concedes, “Fair enough.”

It’s a relief, how quick she is to appeal to him as a straight bloke, banishing his last remaining niggle at her misreading of the situation between him and Aaron. 

“You see?” she says, gesturing with her hand and nearly knocking over her glass. 

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have any problem telling him or anyone else where to go though.”

“I don’t,” she frowns. “’S just…I dunno.” She sighs and slumps down in her seat, then frowns and pushes at Robert in an attempt to get him leaning back too. It strikes him that Carly’s probably not entirely sober at this point.

An impression that is further strengthened when she says, out of nowhere, “It’s just sex, not rocket science, right?”

Robert coughs into his pint. “Excuse me?”

“Well, maybe there’s a _bit_ of biology,” she spreads her index finger and thumb a smidgeon apart. Considers this for a moment, widens the distance to porn actor proportions, then sniggers a little before catching herself, pulling her knee up onto the seat as she continues. “I just mean, it should be _simple_. You’re attracted to someone, they’re attracted to you…go for it. I mean, if it feels good, why not, you know?”

Hard kisses, hands scrabbling beneath clothes, accompanied by a soundtrack of soft shaky breaths, the feel of stubble rasping against skin. He clears his throat and agrees, “Makes sense to me.”

“Yeah. Except it’s not though, is it?” Carly’s gaze flickers across the pub. “Simple, I mean.”

Right. Because as Robert can verify the other side of Going-For-It, is not, as might be expected, a promised land of sweaty, tangled, rutting bodies. No, it’s just an Austin Allegro – British Leyland’s rusty ode to continuing sexual frustration. 

Speaking of which…Robert checks his watch, as Carly half-heartedly decides, “Friends is…friends is all right though.”

She sounds like someone trying to convince themselves to eat another helping of kale, and as someone who’s been force-fed that particular platonic dish himself, Robert mutters, “Is it?”

Carly puts a hand over her eyes and squints at him like Robert’s a distant sunset. Eventually he has to demand, “What?”

“Oh. Right.” With a shake of her head like she’s been jumpstarted, “You want to know what I think?”

“I think you’re probably gonna tell me anyway,” Robert says.

She ignores him. “I think we should all just be like…like…” her fingers splay, sketching artistic, semi-shit-faced pictures in the air, “…like beautiful, bicurious butterflies – movin’ from flower to flower…no expectations, or strings, or _engagements_ …”

He side-eyes her. Definitely time to leave. Carly blinks and gives him a wide, conspiratorial grin. “’S a crackin’ name for a band, in’t it? _The Bicurious Butterflies_ …hang on, where’d you think you’re going?”

As he gets to his feet, he says, “Much as I wish I could stay here and watch you get completely smashed, I _have_ got other places to be.”

“So you’re gonna leave me? Just like that? After what I’ve been through?” Her voice has got louder, and by the bar, Robert can see one particular head snap up. Carly does too, and she hisses, “Oh, _nice_ going,” like he’s the one who turned up the volume all of a sudden.

That’s it. “Right, well, fun as it’s been, I’m due at the garage, so” –

“Great idea!” Carly interrupts, eyes darting between the bar and Robert. “I’d love to come!”

“That – wasn’t actually an invitation,” he tells her, as she grabs his arm to hoist herself to her feet. 

“ _Seriously_ ,” she mutters at him through clenched teeth, as she pushes him toward the exit and away from the watchful, baffled eyes of David Metcalfe, “How are you _this bad_ at bein’ a wingman?”

Outside, it’s just starting to get dark, light mizzle dampening the air. He catches sight of a familiar figure on the other side of the street, trudging shoulders up and head down toward _Dingle and Dingle_ ’s, and he calls out, “Aaron! Hold up a minute!”

He stops, and Robert turns back to Carly. “Sorry, but I can’t exactly prop you in a corner of the garage until we’re done, so…”

She looks at him, unimpressed. “Oh chill out, would you? I’m not actually _looking_ to gatecrash your little boys’ night in – I just wanted to get out of there, that’s all.” A bit softer, she says. “Thanks, though.”

It feels like the point where she should move off – but instead Carly just stands there, expression slowly shifting into something more thoughtful. Robert sincerely hopes this isn’t a precursor to the imminent heaving up of three fingers of Diane’s whisky. “Your house is over there, in case you’ve forgotten,” he says, in an attempt to avoid dealing with that particular outcome.

“All right, all right, message received. I’m going.” She nods across the road. “Just – have a good time with your friend, yeah?”

And quick as a flash, she leans in and presses a soft, booze-tinged kiss to his mouth.

It’s only a second, if that. The minute fraction of time it takes for Robert to draw back, frowning, and ask, “What d’you think you’re doing?”

“Saying thanks for the drinks – and doing you a solid at the same time,” Carly says. Her index finger jabs his shoulder, “Because _I_ am not a wubbish ringman.”

He twists around in time to see Aaron’s back as he strides off.

*****

He doesn’t acknowledge Robert when he steps into the garage a couple of minutes later.

Well, this is going to be fun – Robert can tell.

“You didn’t hang about,” he observes. “Thought you were gonna wait for me.”

Aaron shrugs. “Better things to do than stand around in the rain.” 

Robert looks away. There’s something so…clichéd about the whole scenario, like he’s the husband caught out at the office Christmas party. It just rubs him up the wrong way, even as he makes an attempt to explain. “Yeah, look, about that – Carly was pretty drunk and” –

“What’re you telling me this for?” Aaron asks, finally looking up at him.

Robert frowns. “What?”

He shrugs – more of that weird, in-your-face blankness. “It’s none of my business.”

And Robert stares. Because – he’s right. Aaron’s just some…some one night stand. He’s not even a fling, or a bit on the side, and he’s _definitely_ not Robert’s wife. He’s no-one, really. No-one Robert needs to justify his behaviour to, at any rate. The rest of the explanation twitches on the tip of his tongue, like the world’s longest _but_. 

Aaron looks back at him, waiting. “So…you ready to crack on? Or _are_ we just gonna stand around all night?”

Before Robert can answer, he turns back to the car.

Yeah. He was right. This evening is definitely going to be _fun_. Capital fucking F.

*****

“– finally cornered me this morning, and you’ll never believe it,” Carly says the next day, as she leans over the shop counter.

(It’s a conversation that began minutes before with a “Psst! C’mere,” as Robert had browsed the soft drinks in the display fridge. He’d wondered if an ‘I’m flattered, but’ – speech was in order, but given how quickly Carly launched into details of this morning’s misadventures, the opportunity still hasn’t presented itself). 

“He’s only gonna take it out of my pay – says _that’s_ what he wanted to talk to me about yesterday.”

“Docking your wages because you won’t sleep with him?” Robert asks slowly. “Bit extreme.”

“No – it’s the _honey_. It was some fancy brand – had a poncy bit of straw wrapped around it. He’s deducting the cost of the jar from what he’s payin’ me.”

“So he _doesn’t_ want to sleep with you.”

Carly stares at him. “Oh please. Obviously he wants to sleep with me.”

“Oh, _obviously_.”

She slaps at his hand where it rests on the counter and hisses, “Sssh!” as the man in question enters, flanked by a familiar dark-haired woman. He frowns at Robert, and asks, “Everything all right?” eyes darting between them. 

“Yeah, fine,” Carly says, crossing her arms. “How about you?”

“Fine. Just…stocktaking,” David says, as he begins to rifle through the display of greeting cards. The woman beside him blinks in confusion. Robert searches for the right name and comes up with _Leyla_. Does weddings, or something. “But I thought we were gonna” – she begins.

“Stock-taking!” David insists. Then, to Robert, with a nod toward the bottle he’s holding, “Are you planning on buying that?”

Robert responds to his combative tone in kind. “No, I often come in here to pick up things I don’t want. It’s a shop – what d’you think?”

David bristles and stares him down, like this is a Wild West saloon instead of a small village shop. “Yeah, well, there’s been a price increase. Just so you know.”

“Since when?” Carly asks. 

“Since now!”

“Oh, well, thanks for telling _me_. I mean, it’s only gonna be coming out of _my_ wages, if I get it wrong. How much am I charging him then?”

David looks between her and Robert. And back again. He’s got a strong jaw and even, balanced features that come together to make him both incredibly handsome…and yet somehow mildly ridiculous at the same time. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself – chest out, puffed. “Ten pounds.”

Everyone stares at him.

“You heard me,” he says, with all the bravado of a man who regrets his words, but has backed himself into a corner. 

“Oh god,” Leyla says in a small voice, then whispers to David, “What are you doing?” 

“Ten _pounds_?” Carly says. “You can’t charge ten pounds for _that_!”

“Yes I can.” He swallows. “It’s the law of supply and demand.”

Robert stares at him. “It’s a _sports drink_.” 

“Yeah. It is. Now are you gonna buy it or not?” 

“Well, seeing as you’re charging a tenner for it – I’m gonna go with no.”

“Alright then.” David’s clearly trying for dignity. And failing. He pulls out a card from the display, studies the message ( _Ahoy There, Birthday Boy!_ ) and then puts it back. Peruses another, this one wishing him a sparkly second birthday. 

Leyla takes pity on him. “David…why don’t we go out back and – and have a chat?”

He looks at her. “What about?”

“I don’t know…whether it’s possible to die from secondhand embarrassment?” she suggests brightly, placing a hand at the small of his back and guiding him away, like a small child. 

After a moment, Carly reaches over the counter to take the sports drink out of Robert’s hand. “It’s one pound ninety, actually.” She purses her lips. “Still a bit pricey, innit?” 

She straightens as someone comes into the shop, raising her eyebrows at Robert. It’s Aaron.

“How’s it going?” Robert asks, as he drops a sandwich and a bottled water on the counter for Carly to ring up. 

“Fine,” Aaron says, without even looking at him, then “Thanks,” to Carly as she hands back his change. 

He turns to go, and Robert steps to the side, blocking his path. “Hey,” he says. “So, you know how you’ve been saying about getting started on the underside? I was thinking” –

“Maybe you’ve not noticed, but I’m not actually on the clock right now,” Aaron tells him, with a look that could freeze water. “So why don’t you save it.”

And without further ado, he walks off. 

Carly hops out from behind the counter to stand next to Robert. “You’re welcome,” she tells him, with a companionable bump of her shoulder against his arm.

He spares her an annoyed glance. “And just what am I thanking _you_ for?” 

“Er…adding the spice of jealousy to your relationship?”

His heart does that weird kick drum of fear in his chest – the denial immediate, “I thought I told you, I’m not _in_ a relationship with Aaron.”

“And I’ve told _you_ that I prefer my version,” Carly says. 

“The one that’s completely wrong, you mean.”

“Yeah, probably,” she agrees. “But, just in case you’re interested – in _my_ version,” she nods toward the door Aaron’s just gone out of, “ _that_ did not look like indifference.”

*****

Aaron – jealous.

He turns the thought over and over in his mind throughout the day, like a shiny coin. He finds the corners of his mouth curling up every time, in spite of the simultaneous ping of disquiet he feels whenever he remembers the shop, and Carly.

But then, he’d once overheard Bunny/Beluga/Belvita from the café refer to her as a “habitual fantasist. Or, as _I_ see it, a devious madam with only the loosest understanding of right and wrong – sorry, Americano, was it? That’ll be 2.85, love.” 

Not to mention Carly’s shown all the decisiveness of a pendulum, swinging between clear affirmation of his heterosexuality – and effortless endorsement of a full-throttle gay love affair with the local scrapper. She’d even admitted it, more than once, that she’s probably wrong, that she likes to make things up.

So, strange, yeah – but nothing serious. Nothing he needs to waste his time on. It’s not like she _knows_ anything. It’s not like there’s much of anything to know, thanks to Aaron One-and-Done Livesy. 

Who, in spite of the title, has got a definite jealous streak. 

The smug feeling lasts all the way up to that evening, when in response to Robert’s greeting, Aaron shoves a clamp into his hand and tells him, “Hold this, would ya?”

“Oh, you’re done ignoring me then,” Robert notes. It’s like running smack into a wall with spikes on, every time. 

Aaron spares him a glance. “If you want to call having a life outside of you and this car ‘ignoring you’, then yeah.”

Robert takes a breath. He needs to remember that those spikes, are just _footholds_ in disguise. 

“Right,” he says. “And you’re sure that’s all it is?”

“What else would it be?” 

“Nothing.” 

He makes his expression as bland as possible and keeps a lid on it until they’ve finished up – which of course happens earlier than usual because it’s a Friday, and Fridays are one of those nights Aaron has dedicated to the public performance of homosexuality, whatever that means. Spraypainting rainbows on people’s houses, maybe. Handing out promotional leaflets for clubs. 

…fucking his way through the faceless gay hordes of Hotten…

“You heading out tonight?” he asks, as he puts his coat on. Zips it up.

“Why?” It’s immediate and suspicious – and bizarrely it has Robert smiling down at the concrete floor. 

“No reason,” he says. “Just – thought I might go with you this time. If you’re up for some company, that is.”

Look, it’s not _ideal_ , and he’d be lying if he said he was looking forward to downing pints at the Out-n-Proud in Hotten, but…he’s had enough. Enough dancing around. Enough pretending. Enough of sublimating this thing between him and Aaron into rusty floorpans and shitty suspension. 

Like Carly said – it’s just sex, not rocket science. 

Aaron stares at him, eyes narrowed as he digests what Robert has just said. “You. Want to go to a gay bar. With me.” He gives a slow shake of his head, “No.”

It’s not so much a rejection as it is a complete dismissal, and in spite of his determination to stay on top of the situation, Robert can’t help but feel annoyed. He’s fucking compromising here. “Why not? I mean, I’m assuming the drinks taste the same, and they don’t check your sexuality at the door.”

“Right. I get it,” Aaron says, with a disbelieving laugh. “Thanks, but – don’t do me any favours, yeah?” 

He grabs the keys to lock up. Robert follows right behind, too close, and ignores it when Aaron gestures him through the door. 

Because the thing is, he’s had quite enough of being a scapegoat – thanks. 

It’s pointless anyway, since there’s no amount of wishful thinking on Andy’s part or Aaron’s – that will actually alter either situation to make it entirely Robert’s fault. Like Andy, Aaron’s got his own part to play in this. 

And so Robert does what he does best, and calls him on it. Steps right up in front of Aaron and says, “D’you think you could just drop the act for one minute? Because I hate to tell you this, but – you’re not actually fooling anyone.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I think you do though.” He leans a bit closer. “But here’s a hint, if you need one…what was all that about this morning – in the shop? Remember, when you bit my head off as soon as I opened my mouth?”

“I was busy. Some of us have actual jobs, you know.” Aaron’s schooled his face like a mask. It tells Robert way more than any betraying twitch or blink. 

“Really? Because that’s not what it looked like.” It’s like stretching out a finger and knocking over that first domino in a line, setting a chain reaction into motion. “Looked like you were jealous.” 

“Jealous? Of what? You and Carly?” Robert doesn’t need to say anything, because Aaron answers his own question, “Yeah – you _would_ think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, if it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck…” Robert makes sure it’s said with the barest touch of a smile – because _that’s_ the button to push to get Aaron right in his face – intense and barely leashed. Oh yeah, aggression – that’s _all_ this is, all right. 

“Listen, _mate_ , let me make this clear – _I don’t care_. Not about you. Not about you and Carly. Not about you and anything you choose to get up to in your spare time. Alright?”

It’s odd, contradictory – but even though their words have the tone of confrontation, they don’t come out like that at all. There are no raised voices – if anything, they’re speaking quieter than normal, both sounding slightly breathless.

“Yeah. You’ve said,” Robert says. His eyes are tracking over Aaron’s face, from forehead to chin, and Aaron’s eyes are doing the same thing. He couldn’t look away if he tried. “So why don’t I believe you?”

It’s a pocket of stillness, but heavy with anticipation, like a building storm. He watches the movement of Aaron’s throat as he swallows. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe you’re just that arrogant.”

“Or honest,” Robert corrects, because the thump of blood in his veins is sultry, drugged – and Aaron’s mouth is parted, just barely, as he tosses out insults that come out perfunctory, almost dazed. 

“D’you want the truth?” he asks, and leans in, like he’s sharing a secret – even though it’s just the two of them there. “ _You want me_.”

Aaron’s head jerks back, like he’s just had a slap of cold water, but before he can react further, Robert crowds even closer and says, “You might not want to admit it, but you _do_. Why else are we still here?”

Stubbornly literal, Aaron shoots back, “You paid me ten thousand pounds and blackmailed me – remember?” Even so, his words are lacking the heft of conviction. 

“And you’re really the type to just go along with that,” Robert mocks, dismissive. “Face it, Aaron – you’re here, because some part of you _wants_ to be here.” Their gazes are locked. “And, believe me, all the nights out in the world aren’t gonna change that. You’re just wasting your time – because what you _really_ want…is right here.”

Aaron’s eyes flicker down. They’re so close their chests almost touch as they breathe. Robert leans in to the side, turns so that his mouth almost brushes Aaron’s ear as he says, “It’s just a shame you don’t have the guts to do anything about it.”

*****

He doesn’t hear anything from Aaron. Not Saturday, which he half-expects, because Aaron’s drawn a line under spending Saturdays in the garage post-one-night-stand – but he doesn’t get one of those new and irritating confirmation texts on Sunday morning either.

Fine. The truth hurts, obviously, and apparently Aaron wants to hide instead of facing it. That’s his call – but there’s nothing that says Robert has to make it easier for him.

Accordingly, he sits himself down in The Woolpack backrooms for a long-avoided chat with Diane. As he suspected, she’s noticed the sudden chill between him and Andy (or, and perhaps more likely, Vic’s been round and had a moan).

“– just seemed like the two of you were getting on so well, lately,” she says. “Like…like you’d really put the past behind you. Be a shame to throw all that away.”

“Yeah, well, talk to Andy about it,” Robert says. “He’s the one with the problem.”

Diane cocks her head to the side. “Now why don’t I believe it’s that one-sided?”

“Believe what you like – this is on Andy. I’m happy to talk to him – once he realises I’m not sitting around, twirling my moustache and plotting his downfall.”

Diane considers this. “And there’s nothing you could do or say that might…speed that up?”

“I’m not lying to him anymore, Diane. It’s not good for him,” Robert says, firm.

Diane doesn’t say anything for a moment, but when he looks, she’s smiling down into her mug of tea. And when she looks up, she says, “Jack’d be proud of you – you know that?”

It’s unexpected, an emotional gut-punch, and confused and off-balance, all Robert can think of to say is, “What’s brought this on?”

Diane shakes her head. “Oh, nothing really. He would be, though. And I hope you realise that.”

She lays her hand over his. There’s a pull like ripped stitches in his chest. His father’s years gone, but his memory is a scab to be picked at, rather than let heal. He won’t lie to Andy about Katie – and he can’t lie to himself about Jack. _You’re on your own, son_. 

Diane’s waiting for him to speak, but he can’t. He has to say something though. He’s saved, however, when her mobile starts to buzz. Robert can make out the upside-down _UNKNOWN_ flashing across the screen, next to their joined hands.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” he says, nodding at it.

She looks at him, torn. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’d let it go, except” –

“Diane,” he interrupts, “just answer it.”

With an apologetic smile, she does, wandering out of the room as she says, “Hello? Oh, I thought it might be you…speak of the devil and all that” –

Robert blows out a breath and leans back in his seat. He’s contemplating his half-empty mug of tea when Aaron enters the room, head down as he thumbs at his mobile. He comes to an abrupt stop when he clocks Robert at the kitchen table.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, with customary graciousness.

Robert folds his arms. It always gets him – how quick his body is to register Aaron’s presence…even when they’re just two people standing in a room together, nowhere near touching. “Why – surprised to see me?” 

“No.” The denial is immediate, but Robert’s expression must broadcast his disbelief, because Aaron adds, “Was just gonna call you, actually.” He holds up his hand – mobile in his palm, like proof.

“Funny, and here I thought you were avoiding me.” He relents at Aaron’s scowl. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I’ve signed you up for the Allegro Club,” he states.

“Right.” Robert blinks. “You _do_ realise that I have no idea whether that means you’re still mad at me or not.”

“It’s this online thing. It keeps people up to date on events, offers support” –

“What – like a suicide hotline?”

“– and there’s a spares service,” Aaron finishes. “Members only. And, since you need an engine, not to mention a fuel sender unit and a rear motor wiper, it seemed like a good idea.”

Robert shrugs. “Sounds alright to me.”

“Good – because I’ve already found a bloke who’s got a load of parts for sale. He’s outside London – we’re meeting up at seven o’ clock, Tuesday morning.”

Robert raises his eyebrows at the speed with which this has been arranged. Dryly, he says, “Wow – you’re eager. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you couldn’t wait to get shot of me.”

“No point hanging about, is there?” Aaron says. It’s not a denial. Not that it matters – all this, what Aaron’s doing, it’s the equivalent of a paperclip arguing with a magnet. “Besides, this bloke I’ve told you about – he’s flying out to Frankfurt later that day. You’re lucky he’s doing this at all.”

“Yeah – because _I’m_ the one who’s really pushing for this. At seven o’ clock in the morning.”

“Which is why I’m driving down Monday. You can pay me back for petrol and overnight,” Aaron says, doggedly focusing on the black type of the story, rather than the more intriguing hints between the lines.

There’s a brilliant, blinding flash in his head – the sensation Robert always gets whenever he’s three moves from closing a big deal.

“Hang on a minute – d’you honestly think I’m gonna let you off on your own with this? I think we both remember what happened last time I gave you free reign on spending. God only knows what you’ll come back with this time – worn out brake pads, cracked windshield, a broken fan belt? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.”

“What?” Aaron’s face is screwed up in confusion– and he wants to laugh with the sheer senseless joy of it. Because he can feel it happening…the subtle shift, the inaudible click as he nudges the situation into the correct alignment. 

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.” He can see Aaron’s whole body brace. “You don’t have to” –

“Er – considering your track record, _yeah_ , I do.” He holds up his hand, in an attempt to forestall the dissent. “And you can save your breath, because you’re not gonna talk me out of this.”

In spite of that, Aaron tries, “It’s not” –

“ _Aaron_ ,” Robert says – and there’s the thing. For all his face-saving arguments, Aaron shuts right up. 

Because – a night away, just the two of them? It’s _going_ to happen. And, deep down, Aaron _wants_ it to, every bit as much as Robert does. 

“I’m booking the hotel,” Robert tells him. 

_It’s going to happen_.

Aaron looks away, noncommittal. He doesn’t actually say no, though – which, for Aaron, counts as enthusiastic consent. 

“Great,” Robert says. “Glad we’re both on the same page.”

Aaron closes his eyes, and presses his lips together, obviously gearing himself up to say something. He looks at Robert, a determined line between his eyebrows. “Two rooms.”

Robert can’t stop the incredulous smile that tugs at his mouth. And even though he gets it immediately, he makes Aaron say it again. “I’m sorry – what?”

“You’re bookin’ two rooms on this trip – got that?” He stares Robert down, like he’s making a stand…even though, by bringing this up in the first place, it’s _him_ who’s actually introduced the idea of sex.

“Of course. What else would I be booking?” He can’t resist adding, “I know it’s hard, but…try to keep your mind out of the gutter.” 

His eyes travel a long, deliberate path up Aaron’s body. “If you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted this chapter to end with Robert and Aaron in the Hotel of Turning Points, but it did not work out this way. This chapter is 100% my red-headed step child. Apologies and sympathy-hugs to anyone who reads this far!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen, the year of the mullet. And _other_ notable fuckups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to stretch this out to 2000/3000ish words.
> 
> Ahahahaha. It's like I never learn.

It was warm, a bright buzz of chatter surrounding him. As Robert blinked, trying to reorient himself, a hand touched his where it lay on the shiny wooden table, making him jump.

“– mind?” Hand and voice suddenly resolved into a woman. Brownish-red hair, blue eyes. Shop assistant from Topman, gratifyingly keen to offer some extra assistance off the clock. Years back. Wait – Sophie. Yeah, that was it. 

“Yeah. Fine,” he said, straightening in his seat to look over his shoulder. His eyes roamed the floor. Shit. _Shit_ – he could have sworn…

“ _I don’t believe this…he’s gone_ ,” the tech’s voice reverberated through the pub’s speakers, over the song that was playing.

“ _What? What d’you mean, **gone**_?” suddenly-not-so-Faint Voice chimed in, the backup singer.

In the bar, Sophie leaned closer, indicating the dark-rooted blonde across the table. The roommate. The one who had been silently weeping since her boyfriend had stormed off twenty minutes before. 

(“We could just meet up with a few friends first…should be a laugh.”)

(It hadn’t been).

“I’m so sorry – Michelle’s not usually like this” –

Robert got up onto his knees on the seat, to look over the back of the booth as she continued, oblivious, “– not like I want to, obviously, but I really think I should bring her home” –

He sagged in relief, attention snagged by a familiar figure perched on a barstool up by the counter. He closed his eyes for a second, forehead coming to rest against padded brown leather.

“ _You do know this means we’re going to have to go through the whole thing now, right_?” the tech said, groan stretching through her voice. The bass beat thumped on, relentless. “ _Talk about a time-waster_.”

“– hate to cut it short, though. Really. I’m not just saying it. I mean…I could always text you later, and you could come over. If you want,” Sophie said. She was standing by their table now, supporting the shorter woman, who blinked and sent a fresh pair of mascara-tinged tears spidering down her cheeks. 

Robert struggled to his feet. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds” – he bent to kiss her goodbye, eyes flitting over to the bar, “– whatever.”

Her perfume tickled his nose, a heavy dose of vanilla, sweet and uncomplicated. She _had_ texted, actually – except by then, he’d already found something else to do. 

He’d gone to get another drink – it had been a consolation at the time, but now he found himself starting forward before the two girls were even out the door. He pushed his way through to the bar, right next to the stool where Aaron was seated, eyes wary on the dark-haired bloke next to him.

No wonder, really, since the man had no distinguishing features at all, no eyes, or nose or lips – just hair atop an empty, fleshy face. Undaunted, he gestured at Aaron as he turned away to answer his mobile.

“This is your big plan, is it?” Aaron muttered as Robert leaned in, resting his elbows on the bar. “Sticking us both in a low budget horror flick?”

“Ssh, wouldja?” Robert told him. “Because in another minute, that guy’s gonna turn around, make his excuses and leave.”

“How?” Aaron demanded. “Seeing as he’s not got a _mouth_.”

Robert didn’t get a chance to answer, as right on cue the dark-haired bloke turned and said, voice emanating from…somewhere, “So…look – that was Dominic. I know, I know, but I’ve got to go – I’m so sorry.”

“Now _you_ say, ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again,’” Robert prompted. It had been that, the pissed off tone in the other bloke’s voice that had lit the first spark of non-committal interest, as Robert was waiting to be served.

“You’re all right, mate,” Aaron said instead with uneasy relief, shying back as the faceless bloke laid a hand over his and squeezed. 

_That_ had been the second. The bloke Aaron was currently standing in for had glanced away, and caught Robert’s eye lingering on their joined hands on the bar. Raised his eyebrows in calm challenge, even as his companion said, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” and shrugged on his coat and left.

The bloke had kept watching Robert. Said, “That’s it – show’s over. No more free entertainment, sorry.”

Robert had put up both hands up in pre-emptive surrender, “Just trying to order a drink here.” He’d looked at the bloke again. _Wide mouth_ , he’d noted not-entirely-abstractly, as he added, “I’m in the same boat as you, as it happens.”

The bloke had tilted his head to the side. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Robert had said.

It had taken a while to play out. Not _that_ long, but longer than this time – as Aaron looked at the clumps of faceless people littering the floor, eyed the similarly featureless bartender and said, “Can we get out of here?”

Robert grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Outside, the street was cold and quiet – a figure in a Union Jack minidress making its unsteady way up the street, accompanied by the distant catcalls of some bloke who really couldn’t afford to talk, dressed as he was in an enormous white furry parka.

“So,” Aaron said, “What now?”

He could feel it still, the years ago echo of anticipation and lust, the bloke with the distractingly wide mouth beside him. It was nothing compared to this. 

He slid his hands around Aaron’s hips, pulling him close enough to kiss. Which Robert did, fingers slipping into the pockets of Aaron’s jeans. Or, to be more accurate, the jeans Aaron was wearing. He smiled as he withdrew, holding up the key he’d been expecting to find, and said, “Well, I’m thinking we go to yours, hide out until morning, and then…”

Aaron looked at him, steadily. “And then?”

“And then – and then…” his mind was blank. “And then we’ll see, won’t we? At least we’ll have the option, right? I mean, that is why we’re doing this, after all.”

He pulled Aaron close again, leaned in –

“What’s my name?” he asked.

Robert frowned. “What?”

“Bar bloke here,” he gestured toward himself, the foreign clothes on his body. “Does he have a name or what?”

Robert rifled through his mental rolodex. “Jamie,” he threw out. It sounded plausible. 

Aaron snorted, not fooled. “Suppose I should be flattered you bothered to learn _my_ name.”

“Would have made having a months long affair a bit awkward otherwise.” He made his voice soft and took any sting out of the words by tangling his fingers in the front of Aaron’s coat – _Jamie’s_ coat, a smart double breasted wool thing that Aaron wouldn’t be seen dead in. 

He took two steps backwards, tugging Aaron with him. “Come on – if I’m remembering right, it was a bit of a walk.”

“Could always take your car,” Aaron suggested.

“I didn’t bring my” –

“What d’you call that then?” Aaron loped past Robert, toward a white Audi he _couldn’t_ have parked in the middle of the road, seeing as he didn’t own it yet. 

The boot was already open, as if in invitation, and Robert stared as Aaron had a look. “That shouldn’t be here. It’s wrong.”

“Nothing wrong with it as far as I can see,” Aaron echoed. It wasn’t – quite – conversation.

Robert’s eyes looked upwards. The streetlight above cast an artificial glow, comforting mundanity lessened somewhat by the fact that it seemed to be growing out of an enormous tree, attached like a prosthetic limb. As he watched, a branch passed in front of the bulb like fingers waving hello. Casting a shadow over the car, over Aaron’s back. And he felt it – the washing machine spin of nausea that preceded the sudden upheaval of a memory.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

Aaron turned to him. “What?”

“Now – we’ve got to go now.” Something was wrong with the light – it was dimming. He had to strain to see Aaron’s face.

“So what – you just like wasting my time, do you?”

“ _Run_ ,” he said, seizing hold of Aaron’s wrist, and half-hauling him away – just in time, as car and pub both disappeared. As they passed under each successive streetlight, it flared spotlight-bright for a moment, then blew with a pop, leaving only pitch blackness behind. 

They kept running, down this seemingly neverending street, past locked up shops and unnamed businesses – all of which were swallowed by darkness as they moved past.

“Robert – Robert, wait – where are we going?” Aaron panted.

“I don’t know – somewhere. There’s got to be somewhere else I can hide you.” Their feet slapped against the pavement. He tried to think, eyes scanning the rows of anonymous buildings – and saw it. There, just on the corner – a sign, with actual, legible writing. _The Lime Tree_.

“Come on – in here,” Robert said, tightening his grip on Aaron and pushing him in the door.

Inside it was all gleaming glass, clinking cutlery, the low murmur of conversation. Aaron looked around. “Bit flash,” he said.

Robert cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I was looking to impress. That’s the, that’s the thing, actually…”

Aaron followed his gaze to the table for two where Chrissie looked up from the menu she was perusing and raised a braceleted hand in greeting. “You are joking me, right?”

“I’m trying to hide you someplace you don’t belong,” Robert pointed out. “You’ve got to admit, my first date with Chrissie definitely fits the bill.”

Aaron balked as Robert started toward the table, and he had to turn back. “All right, I know it’s not exactly ideal, but what choice have we got? Come on – it’s only for a bit, remember?” 

“And then?” Aaron asked.

Robert grasped his arm above the elbow, squeezed and released. “Trust me.”

He walked over to the woman he was going to marry, and said, as he pulled out his chair. “You’ve not been waiting long, have you? I would’ve picked you up, you know.” He relaxed as Aaron edged his way into his peripheral vision. 

Chrissie made a face. “And given you and Dad another opportunity to paw the ground and lock horns? I thought this was the safer option.”

“Probably for the best,” he agreed. As she studied the menu, he glanced at Aaron, who was now hovering by their table, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his borrowed coat. “Can’t you” –

“What? Pull up a chair and join you?” 

“Well, obviously not, but – you can’t just stand there all night.”

Chrissie inadvertently solved the problem by closing the wine menu and handing it to Aaron. “Could we get a bottle of the 2009 Trimbach Riesling? Thanks.” 

Aaron stared at him, whole body clearly broadcasting ‘what should I do?’ Robert made a face in response – one that hopefully expressed ‘I don’t know – improvise, can’t you?!’ It smoothed out into bland pleasantness as soon as Chrissie looked at him. 

“You sound like a woman who knows her stuff,” he said.

“I can’t help it. I like the best.” She leaned forward. “Is that a problem?”

“No – not at all.” The memory of a smile played over his face.

Aaron grabbed an already-opened bottle of wine from the table behind him, brandishing it under Chrissie’s nose with a rough, “Here.”

“Now fill our glasses,” Robert directed, fingers covering the movement of his mouth. Aaron glared but duly slopped a measure of wine for him and Chrissie.

“Thank you,” Chrissie said and waved him off. At Robert’s covert gesturing, Aaron pulled out a chair from the table opposite and sat with a thump, crossing his arms.

Chrissie picked up the food menu, and said, “Do you know what you’re going to order? The duck is always good, if you’re looking for a recommendation.”

“What? No – no, I haven’t decided yet. You?”

“The seared scallops,” she said – and in the same conversational tone, “You know, Dad thinks you asked me out tonight as a sort of power play.”

“Does he?” Even second time around, it still took him off guard. Something about the almost-bored cadence of her voice, mixed with the sudden directness of her gaze. “And what do you think?”

“I think I’m a grown woman who’s not interested in being reduced to some sort of chew toy for you and my father to fight over.”

He looked at her. Any nerves he’d felt had only spurred his determination to impress her. “Then it’s just as well that’s not why I asked you out.”

She cocked her head at him – and it had been fun, actually, walking that winding line between subtle and provocative…sounding each other out…

“Then why did you?” 

…verbally feeling each other up…

“Why did you say yes?” 

Aaron made a muffled noise and half-rose from his seat to lean over their table. “Don’t mind me,” he said, as he seized the bottle of wine, before sinking back down into the chair.

Meanwhile Chrissie sat at the other end of the crisp tablecloth, and part of Robert remembered this – the very first time. But he couldn’t separate it from all the other times it had happened…all the times that were yet to happen. 

Every single one of them. 

…Chrissie smirking at him, wineglass held loosely in her hand as under the table, her foot stroked against his ankle…Chrissie using the menu as a shield, eyes sightlessly scanning the appetisers and mains as she said, “– think we’re all feeling a bit low, to be honest. It would have been his and Mum’s wedding anniversary tomorrow, you see”…Chrissie’s worry masked by brittle humour during the endless discussions about Lachlan and That Girl…her mouth forming a moue of noncommittal sympathy in response to one of his digs about Lawrence…Chrissie…and Chrissie…and Chrissie… 

Nostalgia rose thick and heavy in his throat, while opposite him Chrissie began searching through her buzzing handbag. She pulled out her phone and grimaced at the display. “I’m sorry, I have to take this...” 

She turned to the side, to give herself the illusion of privacy. “Lucky – is everything alright?”

“I liked you,” Robert said suddenly. The words pulled out of him, deep-rooted things. “I mean, I’m not going to lie…you being Lawrence’s daughter, that was a definite bonus, but. I would have asked you out anyway. Because I liked you.”

“Do I really have to hear this?” he heard Aaron grumble from off to the side, but he kept his gaze focused on Chrissie, murmuring into her phone. It didn’t matter. He had to say it. 

“You just – you always knew what you wanted, without even thinking…and I wanted that. I wanted you to feel like that about me.” It was hard to describe, how he’d admired her air of sleek confidence – the way he’d immediately wanted it to encompass _him_. 

_I can’t help it. I like the best._

Of course it wasn’t entirely separate from the money, the prestige – but then, how could it be, when those things _were_ Chrissie, had made her into the woman sitting across from him? But just because they’d formed part of the attraction, that didn’t mean he didn’t still _feel_ it. It had always been more complicated than that. 

“It was real, you know. I did love you. It just – wasn’t enough in the end.” His eyes traced the fall of her hair, the dark sweep of her eyelashes as she looked down. “But it doesn’t make it all a lie, just because it didn’t last. I wish” –

 _I wish it had_ stopped in his throat – because he _didn’t_ wish that. It was just the easiest answer. And the wrong one. He was aware of Aaron in his peripheral vision, grimacing as he necked wine straight from the bottle, a vision of a mistake he was yet to make. A mistake he wasn’t going to give up in spite of what it had cost him – and that just said it all, didn’t it?

Painstakingly, he searched for the right words. “I wish we’d ended it like this,” he told Chrissie, indicating himself, her…the clean, white table between them. 

In the corner of his eye, he could see Aaron lower the bottle. 

And then Chrissie turned back, placing her phone on the table beside her. “Sorry for the interruption. Now where were we?” she said.

Her mobile disappeared. Robert stared at the space it had occupied. No. 

“It’s starting again,” Aaron said, and when Robert looked over, he saw that the wine he’d been nursing was gone.

“No,” he said, in defiance of what his eyes were telling him. “It can’t be.”

“Oh right,” Aaron said, watching as a passing waiter blinked out of existence. “Nevermind then. False alarm, obviously.”

“This shouldn’t be _happening_ ,” he kept arguing. “This memory has nothing to do with you – they _can’t_ take it.”

There was a crash as the enormous chandelier in the middle of the room suddenly gave way, smashing into a glinting rubble of crystal and broken bulbs.

“Did you tell _them_ that?”

“I’ve a mind to sue,” Robert said as they stared at it. “They’ve got no right to touch these memories – I’m sure I didn’t sign off on this.” He hardly knew what he was saying.

It wasn’t until the tech’s voice came from outside them, around them, that he snapped out of the fog of disbelieving dread. “ _And_ we’re back on track. Again.” 

His and Aaron’s eyes met in a moment of perfectly synchronised panic – Robert was already pushing back his chair. When he risked a look over his shoulder it was to see that the whole front of the restaurant had been torn away, leaving customers and staff exposed to the elements. Not that that was going to be a problem for long, since the tables and people were already starting to vanish. He put a hand on Aaron’s back, shoving him forward, through the doors of the kitchen –

– inside the utilitarian, bare-walled room on the other side, where Connor Jenson lounged on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle. He had one hand propped behind his head, while the other began to slide down his unclothed chest as he remarked, “Knew you’d show.”

“Who’s _that_?” Aaron asked, head twisting back even as Robert steered him toward the door on the other side.

“Really not important right now,” Robert told him through gritted teeth, as the room began to swirl and pulse around them. He grabbed for the handle and wrenched the door back on its hinges, and they plunged forward just as everything inside eddied away, like water down the drain. 

“– can’t believe it…where’s he…” he caught on the very edge of his hearing, and then, finally it was just the two of them again. He didn’t relax yet.

Deeper. He needed to hide Aaron somewhere deeper. 

Outside the sky was lightening, the smell of overturned earth in the air as they ran down deserted, hedgerow-bordered paths and green-grassed fields, further and further into the past. Lungs burning and muscles aching, Robert could feel the years sloughing away, peeling back until –

He saw it up ahead and slowed to a stop, flinging out a hand to signal Aaron to do likewise, since it felt like words were beyond him. He kept looking at the farmhouse as he concentrated on gulping in air, trying to slow the hummingbird vibration of his heart. 

“Yeah, all right. It’s a house. Are we gonna go in, or what?” There was something strange about Aaron’s voice, demanding attention. 

He turned.

“What?” Aaron said. His shoulders were up, but in spite of the challenge in his tone, his eyes jerked away from Robert’s. He feigned intense interest in his right foot as it scuffed the dirt instead. Robert just took a moment and drank him in, the close-cropped gelled hair, his nose and mouth and eyebrows. All familiar features and all suddenly, startlingly different, when set – as they currently were – on a smooth teenage face.

“You done perving?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that came out. “Just – never imagined you without the beard, that’s all.” Not _strictly_ true, since he was almost certain this version of Aaron came courtesy of one of the photographs dotted around The Woolpack sitting room. Still…

“Like you can afford to make jokes. It looks like something’s up and died on your ‘ead.”

He scowled, suddenly extremely aware of the hair that feathered out below his ears and down his neck.

Eighteen, the year of the mullet. And _other_ notable fuckups. Co-starring Donna. And Andy.

And Katie.

“Yeah, alright – d’you think we can just…put the fashion tips aside for a moment? Maybe figure out what we’re gonna do next?”

Aaron shrugged. “Open door, go inside?”

And he shoved past to do just that, knocking Robert a step off balance with his shoulder. It took Robert a moment to collect himself, by which time teenage-Aaron was twenty feet in front of him and already had his fingers curled around the handle.

“Hang on a minute, would you?” he called, but Aaron cupped his other hand around his ear and said, “Can’t hear you – did you say ‘go right ahead’?”

And Aaron did just that. Robert swore under his breath and forced himself forward to the house. Butler’s Farm, at eighteen years old. 

He took hold of the doorhandle and turned it. Might as well get this over with. He _had_ brought them there, after all. 

The kitchen was empty, but achingly familiar. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him – there were still jackets hanging on the hook. He reached out and touched a denim sleeve. Turned, pulled toward the busy curtains, the small square green and peach tiles on the wall, the dishes draining by the sink. His left hand skated along the faded vinyl tablecloth, and when he lifted it, there were crumbs on the pads of his fingers. 

“It’s alright, this.” The voice came from behind the open door that led to the sitting room. Where teenage-Aaron was regarding him from over the back of the red sofa. “I dunno why you didn’t want me to come in.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Robert told him, as he crossed the distance between them and dropped down next to Aaron. 

“You didn’t have to.” Despite the wide splay of his legs, Aaron managed to shift so that they weren’t touching. He picked at the zipper of his tracksuit. His right knee jigged without stopping. “So now what?”

“What d’you mean ‘now what’? It’s simple – we stay here until tomorrow morning.”

He caught Aaron in the middle of a speculative, sidelong surveyal and raised his eyebrows. Aaron jerked his head to the side as if he hadn’t been looking at all. “Man with the plan, you are,” he scoffed, tossing words like stones into the silence that rippled out, filling the room.

Robert, on the other hand appraised him openly, head to one side as he took in this adolescent preview…finding hints of the man to come, and taking note of new and unexpected details. Barefaced, the line of Aaron’s mouth looked strangely vulnerable. 

He could tell from the tension in Aaron’s body that he was trying his best to ignore him, so Robert kept staring, until finally, Aaron said, “D’you mind?”

“No,” Robert said, with a shake of his head. “I don’t, actually.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes. “This a kink for you or something?”

“What?”

He gestured at himself.

“You mean – you as a teenager? No.”

“Oh.” He could imagine it, this adolescent bravado hardening into the tough don’t-mess-with-me coating Robert was familiar with. Both too-thin attempts to conceal the softness underneath. “So why am I done up like this then?”

“I dunno,” Robert said, and shrugged. _I saw a picture of you once and wondered what you used to be like_. It had just been a few seconds of idle speculation, eyes lingering on the silver frame, before he’d moved on. Still – talk about fucking _gone_. “It just fits, doesn’t it? Since I’m younger in this memory, then you should be too.”

“Er, I hate to tell you this, but I think your maths is off.” True. The Aaron from the photograph, the Aaron in front of him _now_ was…what – sixteen? Seventeen, maybe. Almost the same age as Robert currently found himself. 

“Yeah, well, obviously my subconscious has better things to do right now than babysit.” Five years wasn’t that much of a gap – when they were both adults. Eighteen and thirteen, on the other hand, were opposite sides of a vast chasm – and Robert was relieved his psyche had chosen the judicious cheat of poetic licence.

“Oh. Just thought it might be a thing for you, that’s all.” Aaron went back to the tab of his zipper. “Thought you might be trying it on,” he said, the verbal equivalent of a shrug ostentatious in his words. 

Robert looked at him, but Aaron didn’t meet his eyes, frowning down at his thumb as it flicked, flicked, flicked. A disbelieving smile spread across his face. “Why?” he asked. “Did you want me to?”

“No.”

“You _do_.”

Aaron rounded on him. “Oh yeah, like I’d want – _that_. Fat chance.” 

The derision was double-edged. It made Aaron turn his head, the working of his jaw an obvious tell, unshielded as it was now. It made something turn over inside Robert – made him reach out with careful fingers. 

“Aaron,” he said. “It’s all right.” He did smile, but only a little, not teasing. “I mean, I’m hardly gonna mind, am I?”

Slowly, Aaron looked back. Slowly, his gaze dropped to where Robert’s hand rested on his arm, before rising just as slow to Robert’s eyes, his mouth – and slowly, slowly, he leaned in.

Only to jolt back as the door behind Robert opened, revealing Katie.

“…hiya,” she said and entered on hesitant feet, left hand coming across her body to secure the towel covering her naked body. “I-we were wondering where you were.”

“I thought you’d gone out,” Robert told her. She didn’t seem to notice Aaron. An old ache raised its head, yawned in his chest. 

Before either of them could say anything else, Andy barrelled into the room, and the conversation. 

“Y’alright? We thought we’d get back to stopping in, didn’t we?” Boxer-clad, he curled his arm around Katie, drawing her close. “While you’re here, Rob, stick the kettle on and we’ll get dressed, eh?”

Then he whispered, “C’mon,” and pulled Katie away, leading her back through the door like one of his sheep. She cast the barest glance behind her as she went. 

“I get it now.” Startled, Robert turned back to Aaron, who had retreated as far as he could on the sofa. He picked at the skin around his nails. “Three’s a crowd, innit? Should’ve stayed outside after all. Obvs.”

“Aaron” –

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a one-track mind?”

Half-formed placations gave way to harried self-defense. “What’s the big deal? We need somewhere to hide, and this is what came up.”

“Funny how that works.”

“Aaron – don’t be like that,” he cajoled, putting out a hand to rest on his knee. Aaron knocked it away. “I know it’s a bit awkward right now, but it’ll be worth it in the end. I promise.”

He didn’t say anything, arms crossed over his chest, face tight – and Robert badly wanted to get back to the wide-openness of two minutes ago, Aaron’s apprehensive, wanting expression, the careful, determined way he’d inched closer. The near miss.

It was surprising, how _much_ Robert wanted it – that awkward, dry bump of lips. A first – maybe the first – with this Aaron who hadn’t yet grown into himself. Of course _Robert_ hadn’t got it all figured out either, not yet, not at eighteen. 

Maybe _that_ was why he wanted it so much. 

“You know, they’re not gonna be back for a while,” he volunteered. His right hand hovered above Aaron’s leg again, deliberate – dropping to palm the curve of kneecap and the skin above it when no objection was made.

Aaron turned to him, with a look that could flay. “Oh yeah, cos it’s dead romantic, this. Me and Katie – _Robert Sugden’s Greatest Hits_.”

Robert released a long breath. Despite the sparks of irritation, he found himself rubbing his thumb over Aaron’s leg, back and forth. “Hey, it’s not exactly my first choice either. But we’ve just got to hang tough and wait it out. Okay?”

He must have said something right, because Aaron was looking at him with that expression again, mouth parted. “And then?”

Robert smiled at him. “And then…nothing. It’ll be over. We’ll have done it.” 

Fully dressed, Katie re-entered, and Aaron looked away. 

_Fuck_. 

She pressed her hands flat on the back of the sofa as she leaned in. “Rob – _what_ am I supposed to _do_? Apologise for going to bed with my own husband?”

“You’re in love with _me_ , not him.” He half knelt up on the seat, whipping his hand off Aaron’s knee and grabbing for her as the remembered words tumbled out, second nature. He gave a wary glance to the side, as Aaron rocketed upright. 

“You know what? I’ve changed me mind – I don’t wanna be here anymore.” As he stalked off, Katie continued. “Oh Rob, stop making it harder than it already it already is!”

He looked at her. Shook his head to clear from the cobwebs of old longing clouding it. Pushed down on the ‘ _And I’m in love with you_ ’ that came next, and said instead, “I’m sorry. You were right, you know. This…isn’t gonna work out.” 

As he eased himself into a standing position, he added – part direction and part suggestion, “So – how about, instead of following me out _there_ to rehash ancient history, you just…stay here instead?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” she said, as he grasped her shoulders and turned her toward the sofa. In spite of the words, she sat willingly enough.

Leaving him free to chase after Aaron. 

He found him leaning up by the sink, hands behind him, completely out-of-place in a kitchen where Robert’s most vivid memories were of kissing Katie, leading Donna on, directing resentful daggers at the back of his brother’s head.

“This you multi-tasking, then?” Aaron asked, determinedly disinterested. His heel kicked the cupboard underneath the sink. Obviously some things never changed. Every version of Aaron appeared to come complete with a mile wide streak of volatile vulnerability. 

“You know what?” Robert told him, “I’m gonna take this as a compliment. Even if it is a bit pointless.” He kept his voice reasonable, matter of fact. “Aaron, all that…with Katie – it’s done. It’s over. You’ve got nothing to be jealous of.”

“Not what it looks like.” 

“That’s just how it _was_ ,” he argued. “It’s not like I can help it. And by the way, I’m only doing this in the first place because of _you_. So that I get to _keep you_.” 

Aaron’s expression was pure jaded teen. It made him seem even younger. “Oh come off it. You can drop the act now – I’m not _thick_ , y’know.”

“Yeah, well maybe _I_ am, because I’ve got no idea what you mean. What are you talking about?”

Aaron looked away. “Don’t matter. Since it’s never gonna work anyway.”

“Says who?” Robert could remember the running, the pounding of their feet as he frantically cast about for somewhere, _anywhere_ to hide… But now, he glanced around the kitchen, still solid. The house was still standing, and they’d been here for ages. “Looks like it’s working just fine to me. And it can’t be that much longer now. We’ve already _done_ it, Aaron.” 

“Yeah. All right.” It didn’t sound like agreement. “And then?”

“What d’you mean ‘and then’?” He spread his palms, dropped them by his sides. “And then…I wake up. Mission accomplished.”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. His head was up, face steeled like he was expecting a blow. Robert had just enough time to think – _fuck. “And then?_ ”

And then…

The silence stretched out. 

And then…

“…I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “Is that it? Is that what you want to hear?”

Aaron shrugged.

“Are you _seriously_ having a go at me because I can’t predict the future?” He could hear the frustration in his own rising voice, but it was nothing to the snap of Aaron’s.

“I’m having a go at you because you don’t get to have it both ways! You’re not doing all this to keep _me_. You’re doin’ it to keep a _memory_ of me.”

Robert frowned. “It’s the same thing.”

“No, it in’t! Because a memory’s not real _life_ , is it? You can just…hide it away, like you’re doin’ right now. Take it out whenever it’s _convenient_. But there’s not much chance of that out there, is there? Can’t hide the real me like that. Not anymore.” As if the thought were just occurring to him, he said, “A memory’s sort of like a _secret_ , isn’t it?”

It felt like Robert had had the breath knocked out of him. “Are you saying that I don’t _care_ enough about you? When I’m turning my mind upside-down _right this second_ , all because I can’t stand the thought of losing you?”

“I’m _saying_ that you can’t keep hedging your bets! I’m either worth it…or I’m not – but I can’t be both.” Aaron looked back at him. “And – if I’m worth fighting for in here, then I should be worth it out _there_. That’s what I’m askin’ you – that’s _it_ …and you don’t _need_ to know everything that’s going to happen to be able to tell me that.”

His face was set, but his chin kept wavering out of its hard line. “So. Am I?”

Tomorrow morning. Waking up, remembering Aaron…and then –

And then –

He still couldn’t picture it. 

He opened his mouth. The words wouldn’t come out.

“Right,” Aaron nodded, mouth pulling. As if he couldn’t help it, it just burst out, an explosion of bitter teenage disillusionment, “You’re full of it, you are! It’s not like it’s easy for me, but if _I_ can do it…if I can come out and – and say it” –

“Aaron” –

“– that I _want_ you, that I want to _be_ with you” –

“It’s not” –

“– _then why can’t **you**?_ ”

It rang out, bouncing hard off the walls. Aaron’s eyes were blue nails, piercing Robert right through. There was nothing he could say.

He swallowed. “It’s not like I don’t _want_ to, Aaron. Believe me, I _do_. I just. It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah it is. You’re just a coward,” Aaron decided. He took a few steps back. “But I’m not.” 

His eyes glanced around the kitchen, and he began to pull out drawers with angry flicks of his wrists.

“What are you doing? Aaron?” Robert followed after him.

The cutlery drawer opened with a crash of silverware, and he turned back, a long, serrated knife in his hands. He advanced.

“Aaron – what” –

He grabbed Robert’s hand and pressed the handle of the knife into his palm. Then he tightened the grip of his fingers around Robert’s, so that they were both holding it. He pulled the knife forward, until the tip touched the thin material of his tracksuit, right over his stomach. 

His breathing was hard and fast, with every inhale Robert could feel the knifepoint prick against skin. He tried to draw it back, but Aaron resisted.

“Stop it. Let go!”

“If you’ve not got the guts to come out – at least have the guts to _finish it_.” His fingers were iron against Robert’s as they jostled for control.

“What? _No_. Aaron – _no_ , I’m not gonna hurt you!”

“Go on – _do it_!” 

The pressure increased, unbearable. Lines of tension cramped all the way up to his shoulder. “I _can’t_ ,” Robert said. He caught a flash of Aaron’s older, bearded face as the knife finally clattered to the ground. But when he looked up, it was the younger Aaron’s eyes he met.

“Fine,” he said, and jerked his head upwards. “We do it their way, then.”

The back door opened, and Donna Windsor tumbled in. “Ooooh, something smells go-od,” she called out, as without a backward glance, Aaron pushed past her.

Robert stared down at the knife and flung his hand back, needing the support of the table as he drew in a breath that hurt. 

Donna kept unbuttoning her coat. “ _Swear to god, this Robert J. Sugden’s like an ad for Ritalin_ ,” she announced in a voice that wasn’t her own.

“No,” he said. He reached out to grasp her shoulders. “No – stop it, you _can’t_ ” –

“– _just want to go home, honestly_ ,” Donna informed him, fainter. 

The floor heaved under his feet, and he threw himself forward just in time, falling sidelong through the sudden door-shaped space…

…outside, into an empty yard.

“Aaron?” he called, as he got up, and staggered forward. “Aaron!”

No sound. Nothing moved. Behind him the house had vanished. 

He turned, and turned again when that didn’t work, wheeling in circles. His own breath was harsh in his ears, his throat. He swung around another time – and a tree dipped into his eyeline, stark against the clouds, then slipped away.

Blindly, he launched himself once more, and finally something happened. The ground beneath him gave way to grass, the smell of burning melding with the coppery tang in his mouth. There was a broken stone wall ahead of him, and in front of that a Landrover, wheels pointing toward the sky, as flames and dirty smoke plumed out of it.

He stared at it, and twisted to the side, expecting to see Andy lying there, his face bisected by a wavering bloody line. There was no-one. 

“Andy?” he called out.

No response. He called again. Nothing.

He was alone except for the crackle and snap of the fire that engulfed his brother’s car. He thought that if he could check, he’d find that the body of Max King had disappeared too.

Leaving just him, in that eerie, burning silence. 

“This isn’t how it happened!” he called, just to break it. “And I should know! I was there the first time!” 

The minutes ticked by. 

“Andy?” he shouted. “Dad?” His voice shook. Shock, from the crash. “What are you waiting for?”

He could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. “You’d best get a move on! There’s not much time left for you to call me a lunatic. Come on, Dad – you can’t miss my big send off! Or don’t I even _deserve_ one, this time?”

He swung around. He was still the only one in the field. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten – I know _I_ haven’t. ‘ _You get in that car, and you clear off._ ’ Remember?”

He could almost see his father in front of him as he repeated it – the flat cap pulled low on his head, the wax jacket with the wide corduroy collar. Jack’s vehicle was parked on the other side of the wall – invoking his presence, even in his absence. As if he were casting a judgement, in true Jack Sugden style. 

“No? How about – ‘ _You drive till you’re well away, and you don’t come back_ ’, ey? You said that too.”

Maddening silence.

“Or ‘ _I don’t_ ’” – his voice cracked, but he made himself say it, “‘ _I don’t hate you_ ’? You see, Dad – I remember all of it.” 

He glanced around the still empty field. “There. Done. Guess I didn’t need you after all.”

And because there was nothing left to be said, he walked past the wreckage, through the gap bashed in the wall. Past his dad’s Landrover. He sat into his own car. 

_You’re on your own, son_. He started the engine. Drove away.

Kept going.

And…

…he remembered this. 

The quiet inside the car, the relentless roll of the wheels, the way his eyelids were heavy and raw from crying, even though he’d tried to stop. 

No family. No friends. No-one. 

Just him, Robert Sugden, entirely alone.

But if he’d expected there to be a kind of distance to it, second time around – there wasn’t. It was worse. He kept scanning the road ahead, turning his head to look through the glass to his right, glancing across the unoccupied passenger seat and out the opposite window. The bloodied lump of optimism in his chest hoping against hope every time –

– but no. No hint of dark hair, no black-clothed body, or familiar head-down trudge.

Gone. It echoed through the empty space inside him. 

_This is what it’ll be like_ , he thought. His fingers cramped on the steering wheel. 

Aaron wasn’t coming back. He was still _there_ , in those few memories that were left, but as soon as Robert went back to relive those, he knew what would happen. 

_We do it their way then_.

He couldn’t do it. He drove on, until he couldn’t stand the ache of being alone for one more second, and then – then he gave in. 

_Coward_.

He closed his eyes. Opened them to laughter and handshakes and Lawrence saying, “Well then, I think that’s settled. How does the song go? Signed, sealed, delivered, it’s yours.”

Jerome Healey (plunge finally taken on a CLAAS Lexion 670) pointed a stubby index finger, “James Brown.”

A quarter of a second’s pause before Lawrence magnanimously decided, “The customer is always right. Now what’s say we celebrate your purchase with a drink?”

On his way out the door, he clapped Robert on the back. “Nice work…I can tell you’ll go far here.”

Robert looked up at him. “Sorry – what?” He’d been holding a pen, absently clicking the top. Now, somehow his hands were covered in blue ink. 

“Now come on,” Lawrence said, “I meant you as well.”

“Yeah.” Robert cleared his throat. “Yeah – in a minute.”

He breathed out as Lawrence left the room, long and shaky – and tried again.

He found himself staring down at a table while Chrissie argued with Lachlan about the appropriateness of some computer game or other.

“Robert, back me up here, won’t you?” she said, putting her hand over his, still smeared with blue. Her thumb stroked over his wrist. 

“Or side with me and get some cool points,” Lachlan said. “You’re not that old.”

Robert put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his inky hands. He could hardly breathe through the pain in his chest. 

_This is what it’ll be like_ , he thought again. _From now on, it’ll be like this_. Somehow still alone – even when he _wasn’t_ alone. 

Waking up. Remembering Aaron.

And then…

And then.

…he hadn’t been able to picture it before. Well. Now he could. Now he _knew_. And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t live like this.

*****

It felt like an ending. Of course it was. Haybales, and sunflowers, and the long, black hearse.

He waited till the others had gone, just like the first time, and he wandered through the empty space they left behind. He peered in the windows of the house, closed to him now, and saw nothing but the pulled down blinds. He walked into the byre, where a small group of white chickens clucked amongst themselves and ignored him. 

He pulled off one of his gloves to cup a handful of feed. He brought it to his face, the smell familiar, and pungent – _home_. 

It was like trying to remember a language he no longer spoke.

He stood behind the low wall, outside the graveyard, as they lowered Jack’s body into the ground. And Andy chased him, saying things like, “Don’t go!” and “This is where you should be – it’s your rightful place!”

Robert walked away from him – in the heavy weightless way of dreams, and told him the truth, truer now than it ever had been. “Sorry Andy. I don’t belong here anymore.”

He performed it all, exactly, like a ceremony. Like a ritual. 

Waiting until dark, placing the rose he’d brought on the grave. Red, out of place amidst all the yellow. He stood. “I’ll never forget you,” he said.

There was a rustle of movement beside him, a presence, breathing and steady.

Robert swallowed. He had to squeeze his eyes closed for a second. 

He opened them, and turned. 

“You came back.” 

“Maybe.” Aaron regarded him. Even in the dark, Robert could see that he was older this time, bearded. The way Robert knew him best. “I’ve not made up my mind yet.”

Robert nodded. “All right.” Tried to smile. 

Aaron glanced down at the flowers. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About your dad.”

“Yeah,” Robert said. His dad was dead – a fact, without reprieve, that was going to last the rest of Robert’s life. He looked away from the grave, at Aaron. Willing him to stay. 

“So. Here’s what I think,” he heard himself say. “We keep driving.”

“We keep driving?”

“Until morning,” Robert said. “How are they gonna catch us, if we don’t stop moving?”

Aaron considered it. “Suppose it’s better than nothing. Just about.”

“And then tomorrow…”

He could feel the change in the air. The electric spark of expectation. 

“Tomorrow?” Aaron repeated.

“Tomorrow, I wake up, and I remember.” Robert took a breath. “And I come and find you.”

“And then?”

His heart twisted in his chest. He made his voice light as he said, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? But I plan on putting up a fight. Fair warning.”

There was a silence as Aaron thought about it, and Robert waited.

“I don’t think it’s gonna work,” he said, and something crumpled up inside Robert. 

“But” – he reached out and touched the back of Robert’s hands with his fingers. “– all right. We can try it.”

*****

It was quiet in the car, just the roll of the wheels over a road that stretched like a ribbon into the distance. No destination to aim for, no home to return to, just miles and miles of journey.

But Aaron was beside him now, and that made everything different. 

They drove through towns at first, vague blocky buildings, pedestrians walking the streets like extras setting the scene. They passed _Lawrence White Farming Machinery_ several times, and it Aaron frowned at that.

When they finally got onto the motorway, Robert grinned at him, and Aaron managed a smile. Robert knew he was still worried – but this was a sign. This was working. It had to work. 

The cars they occasionally passed were red, and all moving in the opposite direction. There was nothing in front of them. There was a sort of click Robert couldn’t place, and Aaron turned in his seat. He drew in a breath. “Robert,” he said.

Lulled by the almost-deserted road, he hadn’t looked in the rear view mirror in a while. Now he did, and he watched as a red car and the road behind them disappeared into a void. 

“It’s all right,” he told Aaron. “It’s going to be fine.” He pressed down on the accelerator.

The engine went from a steady rumble to a whine, and the air felt like a solid thing as they hurtled their way through it. He risked another glance in the mirror – the road behind them was vanishing even quicker, nothingness snapping at the back wheels of the car. Robert’s right foot was down to the floor.

“ _Robert_ ,” Aaron said again, and he looked – right over the edge of a cliff.

There wasn’t even time to brace themselves - the wheels turned once more on solid road before launching forward into space, and then –

It happened in slow motion, or at least so it seemed, the movement of the car almost balletic as it turned over and over in the air. Robert just had time to think that the ground was zooming toward them, rather than the other way around – before it ended in a sickening crunch of metal and glass.

*****

It was later…or maybe not.

Robert could see nothing, and his palms were stinging. He heard someone breathing fast, and realised it was himself. Realised that that meant that he _was_ still breathing.

Slowly, he prised his eyes open. He was lying in a ball on the ground, shattered glass all around him.

On the _ground_.

He looked around – the car was to his left, a crumpled, deformed mass. He had to uncurl his fingers from where they’d dug into his palms. He’d drawn blood, but that seemed to be his only injury.

 _Aaron_.

He reeled to his feet. If _he’d_ been thrown clear, then Aaron…Aaron could still be –

There was a small boy hiding behind the car. He looked at Robert with watchful eyes, and he clutched a Gameboy in his hands. 

“Hi,” Robert said, crouching down. Andy and Katie’s wedding. He remembered.

“Robert!” His head snapped around at the sound of the voice. Not even because it was calling him, but because –

“What’s keepin’ you? I’ve been calling for the last five minutes. Your tea’s ready.”

– there he was, standing, hands on hips. Hair dark under his flat cap (though it had been thinning on top, even then), and wearing a checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up. 

Robert’s dad was a giant. 

Robert scrambled to his feet, but it didn’t make any difference – Jack still towered above him. He looked at the boy still sitting on the ground, this miniature version of Aaron – and found that he wasn’t really that small after all. Not when you measured him against Robert himself.

 _Oh_.

His father sighed, and looked down at Aaron. “I take it this one’s staying again? Well, come on then – can’t keep your mum waiting.”

 _Mum_. 

“Of course, you’ll have to come back and tidy up afterwards – the pair of you. I won’t have you leaving the yard in this state,” Jack continued, as he turned back toward the house – _home_. He made no comment about the broken glass crunching under his feet. 

Robert looked at Aaron again – his sticky-up hair and his pale face – and smiled. He held out a hand to help him up. “Come on,” he said. “I think it’s chips this evening.”

Aaron didn’t say anything, just looked at him with those cautious eyes – but he followed him, sticking close across the yard.

Just inside the green door, Robert stopped dead. 

His father was already seated, fork in hand and head down. His mother looked up, a plate in her hand, ready to set on the table. She smiled, and he stared at her – her brown hair half-up in a ponytail, a shapeless orange jumper hanging loose over jeans, blue eyes warm on his.

“Well hurry up, you two – it’ll be cold at this rate!” she said –

– and Robert _remembered_ her voice, the clear richness of it, of course he did. But now he _felt_ it – vibrating in his chest, even when she stopped speaking and raised her eyebrows at him. This was real. 

This was real, and it was here, and it was _now_. 

He started forward, but Aaron pulled him back. He wasn’t a child anymore, and neither was Robert. “Who am I supposed to be?” he whispered in panic.

“Who’d you think? Andy,” Robert told him.

Aaron made a face. “Right. Bit weird, don’t you think?”

Robert didn’t answer, eyes already back on his mother as he drifted over to her. He was taller than her now. Careful, he reached out, and just brushed the fuzzy texture of her jumper. There was a lump in his throat. “Mum,” he said. He couldn’t say anything else. 

She put a hand on his back, giving him a little push in the direction of the sink. “Wash up first,” she told him. “You too,” she added, including Aaron. They did – two grown men squashed together at the sink, sharing the bar of soap. Robert kept glancing behind him, watching his mother move around the kitchen. 

When they were done, his mum set a plate of chips and chicken in front of Aaron, and he muttered, “Thanks,” eyes flicking to her and then hurriedly down to stare at the table. 

Robert grinned at him. It was strange – sometimes he swung his legs, kicking against his chair, other times they stretched ahead of him, cramped in the small space and pressing against Aaron’s. Child, adult. He looked at Aaron – adult, child.

All the while, his mother was a constant in his field of vision. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat it?” he asked Aaron, in a voice he didn’t recognise anymore. “She’ll have a proper strop on if you don’t.”

He twisted to keep her in view as she refilled her glass of water. His dad glanced up as she stood, then returned his focus to his half-finished plate.

Aaron stopped picking at the chips with his fork, and watched him. “We should go,” he said.

Robert frowned. “What? Why would we go?”

“Because,” he said, face adult and sad, “You don’t want to lose this.”

He twined his feet around the chair legs. “Well, I’m not _gonna_ lose it.”

He was _here_ , with his dad and his mum and Aaron – and there was chips for tea. Everything was going to be all right. He knew it.

When his mum leaned across him to collect his plate, Robert closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of washing powder, mixed with the perfume she used. It was nondescript, lightly floral. The kind of thing you could pick up cheap in any chemist’s. It smelled like no-one but her.

She didn’t say anything about Aaron’s uneaten meal, and Robert said with bursting, bragging pride, “She’s nice, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. He gave him a small smile. “She is.”

Robert looked back at her – she was standing at the sink, and the window frame in front of her was on fire. The chair scraped back as he stood. “Mum!”

She didn’t turn, didn’t seem to notice – just continued calmly cleaning the plates. The picture to her left, and the cabinets and drawers were on fire too. 

“Dad – we’ve got to get out, we” –

The table crackled and burned, and his father sat on a chair that was engulfed by flames, a blazing newspaper in front of him, seemingly unaffected.

“ _Oh no, you don’t,_ ” the tech muttered. “ _Just a few more minutes – almost done…_ ”

Robert looked at Aaron, on the other side of the table. He drew in a dragging, catching breath. “We’ve got to go, don’t we?”

Aaron nodded, once. Robert moved – but couldn’t seem to make himself leave, even as the blaze spread. He took a step toward his father, then over to the sink. “Mum,” he said, and reached out – just as her jumper caught flame. “ _Mum_!”

He could smell singeing hair. Aaron grabbed him, arms tight around his body and pushed him out of the house. “It’ll only make it worse,” he said, and, into Robert’s ear, “Don’t listen, don’t listen to it,” as someone started to scream. 

He looked at Aaron. There was nowhere safe left. There was nowhere else to go.

“Run,” Robert said. His hands were clutching the neck of Aaron’s t-shirt, his hoodie. “We’ve got to run.”

And they did. 

They ran down long streets and through fields, along paths and roads, and hard packed dirt. They ran until Robert’s muscles ached, and his heart pounded, and his head spun. They ran until the pain in his side got so bad he had to double over for a minute, and he thought he might be sick – but there wasn’t time, so he pulled at Aaron’s wrist, tugging him onward again.

They were slowing. Every fresh step felt insurmountable, and Robert needed all of his concentration just to put one foot in front of the other. They just had to keep moving. Just for a little longer.

He stumbled and fell onto his knees.

He didn’t register the pain – or he was too tired to feel it. He just put his hands flat on the dirt and pushed.

He couldn’t get up. He tried again. His arms shook with the strain of holding himself. His legs wouldn’t work.

Three breaths, he told himself. He could rest for three breaths, and then he had to get up.

One.

Two.

There were legs in front of him. “Are you ready?” Aaron said. He didn’t sound out of breath, even though he’d been running alongside Robert the whole way, like a shadow. 

“Just – a minute,” Robert said. His mouth was dry, tongue like Velcro. Even the effort of forming words made him shake. Three. He stared down at his hands and _willed_ them to push him up. 

“ _Robert_ ,” Aaron said again, and just the way he said it…Robert looked at him. “Are you ready?”

He held out a hand for Robert to take. “Come on,” he said. “It’s my turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted Robert to relive the Max-King-crash with Andy and Jack there...and then find Aaron again at the service station, but even though I kind of had a memory loophole, it didn't read quite right to me when I wrote it like that. Wasn't expecting to write Aaron and Robert at Jack's grave, so had to go back and make an edit to an earlier chapter to make sure Robert no longer remembers Jack's funeral.
> 
> Thanks so much to pheobep and momecat for listening to me bang on about this and helping me think my way through it :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I think I prefer the version of tonight where you’re off your face and I’m taking advantage of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 24, aka - "So...you know that bit in your notes? The one that says 'Insert sex scene here'? You might want to elaborate on that at some point."
> 
> In other words, many plot-points failed to happen in this chapter, because sex is hard to write. I don't know whether I'm apologising for the sex, or for the lack of anything else. Either AND both, I guess!
> 
> (but on the bright side, Robert's mother's anniversary actually mapped onto the timeline of this fic! Thank you, strangely perfect 16th of November that happened to fall on a Monday!)

Monday is their mother’s anniversary, and that morning Victoria lurks in the kitchen with a bunch of flowers and a determined look on her face. 

“You know what? I think it’s great,” she says out of nowhere, when Robert enters, and Andy immediately gets up from the table to leave. 

They both stop. “What is?” Robert asks.

“That _we_ are the sort of family who can put aside our petty differences on a day like today, and come together to remember Mum. Right?”

Neither of them say anything. Vic nods. “Well then you’re lucky I’m willing to settle for us being the kind of family who can _pretend_ to put our differences aside. For, let’s say…ten minutes?”

“Vic…” Andy says.

“Come on, Andy – I’m talking about laying some flowers on her grave, that’s all. Whatever’s gone on between the pair of you, surely you can manage that? For _Mum_.”

“I can if Andy can,” Robert says.

Andy replies to Vic, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Of course I can. But I’ve got work. Moira” –

“– already knows you might be a bit late,” Vic finishes. 

“You what?”

At his look she shrugs. “One of the perks of you working for my mother-in-law. Actually, so far, the only perk.” 

She glances between him and Robert. “So – anyone else got any excuses for me to totally demolish, or…are we ready to go?”

*****

They stand quietly by the grave in a line, Andy on one end, Robert on the other, and Vic between them. If Andy’s gaze is drawn toward the plain wooden cross that still marks Katie’s resting place, at least it’s not obvious. Vic arranges the flowers, and lays them down carefully – a cheery riot of pink and yellow, red and white.

“You know, I reckon she’d be glad to see us all here. Together,” Vic says, and she threads her arms through Andy and Robert’s, uniting the three of them. Robert feels the pressure of her arm against his side, the weight of Andy’s solemn presence beside her. His eyes trace the stone in front of them. _Wife of Jack and devoted mother of **Robert, Andy** and **Victoria**_. 

“Yeah,” Andy says quietly. “I reckon she would be.”

“So,” his sister says, as they trudge their way back. They’re still joined, Vic keeping him and Andy together like links in a chain – _**Robert, Andy** and **Victoria**_. “Seeing as we’ve managed to avoid a full-on Sugden on Sugden brawl so far, what’s say we _really_ tempt fate and – have a drink together? When you’ve finished work, obviously.”

“…I’m not sure when that’ll be,” Andy says.

She sighs. “Fine.” They’ve reached the gate, and Vic pulls her hand back from where it’s tucked around his elbow. “It was nice while it lasted, I suppose.” 

Andy shifts on his feet. “But – if you don’t mind waiting, then…yeah. Alright.” His gaze flickers to Robert, before he strides away.

Vic stands there, smile sunrising across her face and shouts after him, “Great! We’ll see you later!”

Robert takes a breath. “Actually” –

She rounds on him. “Oh no – _no_! Not you as well – I’ve just got one of you straightened out!”

“I’m sorry, Vic, I can’t this evening.”

“But Andy’s coming round! Can’t you see it? I bet we could sort this out tonight, if we tried. Fix this stupid whatever-it-is you’re fighting about and get back to _being_ there for each other.” She looks at him and adds a reproachful, “You know, like a proper family,” like punctuation to her argument. 

“Nice speech, Vic – but when I said I can’t, I literally mean _can’t_. I won’t be here.”

“What? Where are you goin’?” 

“Overnight in London – nothing to worry about.”

She pauses. “Are you meeting Chrissie?”

“What? No. No, it’s just a business thing.”

A scoff. “Right. That’d be the business you’ve been kicked out of, then?”

“ _Car_ business,” he quickly amends. “Aaron’s found some bloke who’s got the parts we need. Bit of a rush job, only found out yesterday.” He puts out his hands like ‘what can you do?’

“And…that means you’ve got to stay overnight? In London,” Vic says slowly, “with – Aaron…?”

“In this case, yeah, unfortunately. But, if it means we get the parts…”

“Right. The – parts. That you need.”

“So you see why I can’t make that drink tonight. Maybe another time.” He pats her shoulder. Checks the time, makes a face. “Speaking of which – I need to get ready.”

He’s through the gate before she calls him. “Robert!”

He pivots. She opens her mouth, closes it – but before he can relax, she opens it again. “All this…it just seems a bit awkward. For you. Having to go down there at all, I mean. Couldn’t Aaron handle it on his own?”

“Of course he could,” Robert shrugs. “Aaron could do everything on his own. But then it wouldn’t really be _my_ hobby, would it?” He smiles at her. Starts walking again, stepping backwards, “Think of it this way – now you’ve got an extra night to soften Andy up. Might even work out better like this, yeah?” 

He turns, and when she calls after him again, he tosses a, “Sorry, Vic – I really have to go,” over his shoulder and quickens his pace.

*****

He throws the essentials in a bag, and he’s out the door well in time. Aaron’s taking a half day, and Robert strolls into The Woolpack a full fifteen minutes before they’re due to meet.

Behind the bar Chas folds her arms and says, thin-lipped, “I can’t believe you’ve got to gall to show your face.”

Ah. Obviously she’s been filled in…to some extent. Robert looks back at her and savours it. 

He hears the swing of the doors behind him, and Paddy flusters his way in. “I got your text, Chas – sorry, I was on a call…family decided to put the hamster in with the rabbit, _complete_ nightmare and,” he shakes his head as if to clear it, “– right, not important. What’s going on?” Concerned glasses-covered eyes slide between Chas and him, obviously sensing the antagonism in the air. “I mean…not in a general sense, I know what’s going on in a _general_ sense, I meant – I meant specifically. As in…right now.” 

…and Paddy is clueless. Business as usual, then. 

“Just waiting for Aaron,” Robert says. Chas snorts.

Paddy reaches over the counter and touches her arm, says in a low voice, “Catching flies with honey, remember?”

“How d’you catch a _snake_ , Paddy?” Chas asks, shaking off his hand. “I suppose he’s not told you, then? Aaron? About the little trip _he’s_ got planned?”

“You’re going away together?” That troubled blue gaze locks onto Robert, taking in the leather bag in his hand.

“To source car parts – we’re not going on the run,” Robert tells him. “And, even if we were, I think that, as a legal _adult_ , that’s a choice that _Aaron_ gets to make.” It’s not Paddy Robert directs the last of his words to.

 _He chose **me**. He’s going with me, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Though I’m sure you **tried**_. When he smiles, he makes it as smug as possible. “And I’ll have a glass of water, thanks. While I’m waiting.”

Chas turns to Paddy and mutters, “If I wrung his neck right now, no jury in the world would convict me, you know that, right?”

“Well, they probably would though, because – murder,” Paddy says, face apologetic. “And also…he’s right. Much as I hate to admit it, this is Aaron’s decision. If he wants to go and…” he sighs, “… _source car parts_ , there’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

“Yes there is.” Chas goes very still, stares Robert down. “I could put an end to this thing right this second.”

“Thinking of calling your attack dog in again?” Robert asks. “Because I hate to break it to you, but he’s only got a ten minute window.” He makes a show of consulting his watch. “Sorry – nine now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t need that long, believe me.” She’s talking in this odd, slow voice that would probably be worrying if Robert didn’t know that, post-unleashing Cain, the violent ace in her pack, all she’s got left is an irrational grudge and the 2 of bleeding hearts that is Paddy Kirk. Technically, _Robert_ has the upper hand, seeing as he’s been the victim of an unwarranted assault. Not to mention the unpleasant hostility every time he orders so much as a tap water.

And _Aaron’s_ on his side. 

“Chas – _Chas_ , whatever you’re thinking of doing, or, or _saying_ – just remember _Aaron_ , all right?” Paddy says. There’s an authority to his tone that frankly, Robert’s amazed he possesses. “Respecting what _he_ wants, remember.”

“I know!” she snaps. “I _know_ , all right! I wish I didn’t, but I do. But…” She leans in as close to Robert as she can, “I could bring your whole world crashing down around your ears – just like _that_ ,” she snaps her fingers. “Something for you to remember, when you’re out with my son.”

“Is that it? Are we finished with the ‘empty threats’ part of the show?” Robert says, unimpressed. “Because I’m still waiting on that water.”

Chas whirls around and fills a glass before slamming it onto the counter. “Should come in useful – for when you feel your ears burning,” she tells him.

And it’s fun – at first. He takes the glass down to an unoccupied table and pretends not to notice the daggers Chas is shooting his way as she whispers with Paddy at the bar. What good is a victory if you don’t get to rub it in someone’s face, after all? Not like Chas had held back with _him_ , those nights Aaron’d been out aiming his gayness like an indiscriminate laser. 

It’s less fun twenty minutes later, at quarter past one, when Robert’s still waiting. He takes small sips of his drink – he has a feeling there’ll be a smart comment if he asks for a refill – and plays with his phone.

 _Where are you?_ he texts, but his thumb hovers over the send button without pressing it. At this stage, it’s possible Aaron’s running late, that he got caught up in something and lost track of time. It’s more than possible. He’s not _that_ late, and Robert doesn’t want to look desperate. 

Of course, the other possibility is that Adam Barton’s added his half-formed opinions to whatever Chas has spewed…and managed put Aaron off. It’s a small possibility, hardly worth considering…but it’s there, and it feels weightier and more solid with every passing second. 

He sends the text. 

And then, a second later – _In the pub by the way. Waiting_.

When Aaron finally arrives, at twenty-five past one, the relief is a rush, heady – even though the first thing he offers when he stops at Robert’s table is neither apology nor greeting, but an accusatory, “I thought we were meeting round back, in the car park.”

Robert shrugs. “And _I_ thought we were supposed to meet at one o’ clock. Looks like we were both wrong.” 

“Yeah well, I just – needed to finish off some stuff,” Aaron says. 

It’s an obvious lie. “Second thoughts?”

“Why? You gonna give me a reason to have ‘em?” he shoots back instead of answering. “Now are we goin’ or what?”

Robert fights down his smile as he gets to his feet. As they head toward the door, Chas calls, though audibly gritted teeth, “Have a good time!”

“But not – not _too_ good a time, eh?” Paddy cautions.

“Subtle, Paddy,” Aaron says under his breath, as he pushes on the door, and then they’re outside. But it isn’t until they’re both sitting in the car, and Aaron turns the key in the ignition that it properly hits for Robert.

This is _happening_.

*****

The journey stretches out before them, and at the end of that – a hotel. The knowledge charges the air – a mixture of intoxicating and inhibiting. Aaron’s the first to break it, when they’re out of the village. “I’m surprised you showed up in the pub,” he says.

“What? Why?” 

“I dunno. Meeting out back would’ve been more private. S’why I suggested it – thought that’d be more your thing.”

“Well yeah – if this was a secret. But we’ve got nothing to hide, have we?” Robert studies Aaron’s profile. “I mean, we’re just going to check out some parts. It’s not like we’re gonna be doing anything else…is it?”

Robert thinks about the beds – two, as promised. 

Both doubles. 

“Yeah.” Aaron’s eyes stay fixed on the road ahead.

“And it’s not like your mum didn’t know anyway.”

He does get a glance at that. “Why? Did she say something to you?”

Robert thinks back – death threats, insults, vague and ominous warnings to destroy his life – “Nothing much. The usual.” 

He waits. Asks, “What about you? I bet she had a few words for you when you told her.”

Aaron thinks about it. “Nothing much. The usual.” The corners of his mouth quirk up, and Robert turns his head and grins out the passenger side window. 

They pull in at half-past two for sandwiches and coffee, and to top up with petrol. The conversation is stop-and-start, desultory. The Allegro, and their next steps in restoring it to fully functional, hideous glory…some bloke with a small sheet-metal manufacturing business in Shipley who might be interested in dealing with the scrapyard…the highly entertaining public shitshow that is currently Jimmy King’s marriage. Somewhat inevitable – which Robert could have told the guy from experience, seeing that he is married to _Nicola Blackstock_ (of all people). 

But through it all, the hotel and what might happen there (what has to happen), hangs over everything, as Aaron’s car steadily swallows up both miles and hours.

And finally, they’re there, pulling off the M1 and onto the Ridgeway, and from there turning off into the seclusion of the Parkview Hotel. Robert covertly checks Aaron’s reaction as the hotel comes into view, a softly lit country-house jewel in a setting of rolling green countryside. But Aaron’s face gives nothing away, and he’s silent as they park and get their bags. He’s brought a backpack, which he slings over one shoulder – and Robert doesn’t know why, but the sight causes a wave of something like affection to wash over him. 

It’s only after they walk inside the hotel that it comes out. Aaron’s eyes flick around the interior, the comfortable, plush looking seats, the marble floor and the enormous vase filled with white flowers to the far left of the reception desk. 

“Bit showy, considering why we’re here,” he notes – as if he seriously expected a Travelodge inside. There’s a fucking fountain out front. It’s not _that_ dark. 

“Well, it’s not you that’s paying, is it?” Robert says.

Aaron eyes a statue in the corner with deep distrust. “You can say that again.” 

“So what are you complaining for?” 

That shuts him up, and one efficient, friendly welcome from Amanda later, and they’re heading up the stairs to rooms 205 and 209. It’s past six o’ clock at this stage, and as they near Aaron’s room, Robert says, “Why don’t we get our stuff sorted out, then meet up again in a few minutes for something to eat.”

A sidelong glance from Aaron, and a nod. “All right. It’s only ten minutes into town, we can” –

“ _Or_ we go downstairs to the restaurant and eat there,” Robert interrupts, before he can suggest some cheap, plastic-chaired outlet that will intrude upon the atmosphere that’s been building ever since they sat into the car together. He wants, more than anything, to keep the bubble of intimacy surrounding them from popping. “It’s the most convenient.”

“Most expensive, you mean.”

“My treat,” he offers.

Aaron starts to shake his head, but Robert puts out his hand, the one holding the keycard, and manages to wrap three fingers around his wrist. Aaron’s eyes snap down at the gesture, and Robert lowers his voice. “Come on, Aaron – as a thank you. For getting in touch with this guy, and arranging the meet-up. And…for coming down here with me.”

There’s a door in front of them, and on the other side of it, a bed. His awareness of it is neon. And (he’d be willing to put money on this) shared by Aaron. 

“Not like you gave us much of a choice.” But it’s a grumble for the sake of it, and Robert can still feel the bones of Aaron’s wrist beneath his hand. 

“Still,” he says, charming - determined. 

_Almost_ there – he can taste it. 

Aaron looks at him. “All right,” he says.

*****

Inside his room, Robert takes stock. The décor is tasteful, muted, with a large window providing an alleged view of the countryside. He puts his bag down at the foot of the bed and sits, leaning back on his hands. Comfortable.

He takes off his jacket, stands and looks in the mirror. Runs his fingers through his hair and decides that his outfit – jeans and a shirt under a blue jumper – will do. Based on the reviews he read last night, the dress code’s casual, anyway – which is good because Robert very much doubts that Aaron’s got a suit and tie balled up in his backpack. 

His mobile rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket to answer it, to tell Aaron he’s ready – when he stops. As it rings and rings, he looks down at the name on the screen, but it’s like reading a familiar word so many times that it stops looking like a word at all.

He blinks, fumbles his thumb across the screen. “Hello.”

“Hello, Robert,” Chrissie says on the other end of the line. “I would say ‘surprise’, but I suppose it’s not, really.”

No. Not a surprise. More of a complete shock. 

“Chrissie. What…” he shakes his head. “Why” –

“Oh, let’s not play games, Robert,” she says, voice cool and measured. “You refuse to deal with my father, and I won’t let you hold his business hostage forever. It’s bad enough one of us being trapped by the terms of an unfair contract – Dad shouldn’t have to pay for my stupid mistake as well. So congratulations, your juvenile little stunt worked. It may be under protest, but you got what you asked for. I’m listening.”

He pulls the phone back to stare at the display. _Chrissie_. Puts it to his ear again. “Oh yeah, this is exactly what I wanted. Thrown out by my wife without so much as an explanation – really living the dream over here.”

She sighs, “If you’ve forced me into calling you _just_ to rehash this, I have to tell you, I’m not interested. From my perspective, the only important thing about our marriage is that it’s over. And all I want to do now is move forward.”

“Well good luck with that,” Robert says, spitting the words like bullets. 

“I’m sorry?”

“If you think I can be fobbed off with a _phone call_ ” –

“Oh for god’s _sake_ , Robert – what do you want?” Her voice finally snaps, and he can hear the anger underneath. _Good_. 

He laughs, bitter. “It’s a bit late to be asking _that_ question, don’t you think? No, we should stay focused on _you_ and what you want.” He pauses for a moment, lets his next words really sink in. “And I think that if you want to move on that badly, then you won’t mind telling me in person.”

“No,” she says, immediate. Definite.

“Then you mustn’t want it that much. Funny, here _I_ am, itching to get started, but you’re the one dragging your feet.”

“Let me be clear, Robert. I don’t _want_ to meet you. I don’t want to see you _ever again_ , as a matter of fact.”

“And I don’t want to do this over the phone, so it looks like you’re going to have to compromise.” There’s a vicious satisfaction to it – she hurt him first, and now he gets to hurt her back.

“You’re _disgusting_ , you know that? Holding my father’s business to ransom to force me into seeing you…I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

“You know, I really don’t have a problem with it…since _I’m_ not the one treating the person I promised to love and cherish like dirt for no good reason.” 

“For no good reason? Oh, I have had _enough_ of this – this injured _martyr_ act! You want to know why? Well, you asked for it, you _lying, manipulative cl_ ” –

Robert cuts through this, impatient. “ _To my face_ , remember? Otherwise, you can save it.” He glances around the hotel room. “Listen…I’m staying with my sister right now. In Emmerdale” –

“Oh I just bet you are,” Chrissie mutters.

“– you can get in touch when you’re ready to talk. In person.”

There’s a knock at the door. _Aaron_. “I’ve got to go,” he says.

“Robert” –

He hangs up. Grabs his keycard.

Outside, Aaron’s shifting from foot to foot in the hallway, hands jammed in his jean pockets. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Robert says. He’s taken off the hoodie, revealing the black, long-sleeved t-shirt underneath. He looks more open, defenceless somehow, like he’s removed a layer of armour instead of a piece of clothing. “Yeah. Ready.” 

As they make their way downstairs, Robert holds the power button on his phone until the screen goes dark.

*****

The restaurant is Monday-quiet, the majority of its tables empty. They’re seated and served quickly.

It’s only as the solicitous server is laying the plates in front of them, that it strikes Robert that the small scattering of people in this dining room consists almost entirely of couples. Everything, from the pristine, white-clothed table to the carefully arranged cutlery and glassware, and the close, low-voiced conversations surrounding them – it all serves to broadcast _togetherness_. It makes his and Aaron’s meal seem boldly declarative in a way that Robert hadn’t considered when he’d suggested it. He’s unsettled already after Chrissie’s call and this only knocks him further off balance. 

And so, although he’s hoping that one of those double beds upstairs is going to be redundant, when the server says, “I hope you gentlemen enjoy your meal,” Robert keeps the image of the two separate rooms in his mind, like an alibi, as he assures her they will. 

Then she’s gone – and devoid of her presence, everything should be fine again. Robert can tuck away his unwanted awareness of how this looks from an outside perspective, and return to the inviting space of just-them, the pull between him and Aaron growing stronger with every second spent together. Even with all the unintended subtext, Robert’s glad they’re here, instead of a booth in some harshly-lit, noisy fast food place. 

They’re both quiet. Aaron looks around, stealing glances at the large ornate mirror on the wall, the sea of buttermilk coloured napkins and blue stemmed wineglasses that pick up the blue whorls in the carpet. And Robert…

…well, this whole thing makes him think of Chrissie.

It’s not just the phone call – though that’s part of it. It’s not even the hotel, or the restaurant, though both are settings in which it’s easy to picture her. Definitely she’d be more comfortable sitting here than Aaron. But it’s more the feeling he has now… _has had_ since Sunday evening, when Aaron had stopped arguing and finally agreed to let him organise this thing. 

It brings him back to the first time he’d met Chrissie, in Lawrence’s office. Introductions had been made, though there’d already been an undercurrent of interest between them, each aware of the other through Lawrence’s remarks (the golden child and the golden boy). They’d really only had enough time to speak briefly and shake hands before the man himself had swooped in to take Chrissie away for lunch – but as he’d watched them leave through the window in the office, Robert had felt it.

Certainty.

He’d known – within the space of those few minutes – that he was going to ask Chrissie out. He’d known that she would say yes. In some strange way, it felt as if he could see the future – he and Chrissie and what they would one day be to one another. He’d seen the end point.

(Obviously, given how things have worked out, it hadn’t exactly been a failsafe view of the future. It had _felt_ like one though). 

“You all right?” Aaron asks. His knife and fork are poised above his steak, but his eyes are fixed on Robert. 

“Yeah. Fine.”

“You just seem a bit…” Aaron shrugs. 

He’d looked at Chrissie and felt confident of success. He looks at Aaron, and while he can once again see the desired end point – him and Aaron rolling around on that double bed upstairs, touching, kissing, _fucking_ – he suddenly feels seized with fear that it might not happen. He’s never had to try so hard to make anything happen before…but even after all that effort, it’s not a sure thing. The sheer unfairness of it, that something he’s so desperate for should still be conditional, is galling. _Gutting_. A bewildered kind of resentment surges up in him – directed toward Aaron. For being so difficult. For sitting across from Robert right now, looking like someone’s boyfriend. 

For making Robert _want him_ so _much_.

“We didn’t have to do this, you know,” Aaron says. He pushes a handcut chip around his plate, and he probably doesn’t know what’s going through Robert’s head, but he’s already pulled in on himself in defensive withdrawal. 

_Fuck_. Panic jolts him back on track. He has to find them – the right words, the _perfect_ words to say to get things running smoothly again. “It’s my mum’s anniversary today,” he finds himself blurting out instead. 

It gets Aaron’s attention at least, though if he’s surprised at the topic, it’s only shown in the small movement of his eyebrows. He nods. “I know. Adam said Vic wanted to do some family thing.”

It’s not a question – not if he doesn’t want it to be. He takes a sip of his drink. “Well, what Vic wants, she gets.”

“You _did_ it?”

“I dunno why you sound so surprised. I _do_ actually care about my family.” Fuck. Just brilliant. At this rate they’re going to end up having a public slanging match, thus completely convincing everyone in this restaurant that they’re a couple.

But strangely, Aaron doesn’t take the opportunity to escalate the situation. “No, I didn’t mean it like that – just…I’m glad you went, is all.” He hesitates, then adds, “And – not just for Vic. I know how much your mum means to you.”

“You do?” Robert frowns.

Aaron looks down at his plate. “Well, she was your mum, wan’t she?”

“And if anyone would know about _that_ , it’d be you,” Robert says, but the reference to Chas is light, humorous. He has no idea how, or why, but even though they’ve taken a detour, it seems to have somehow led them back on course. 

Aaron glances at him. “Me and Mum weren’t always like we are now, y’know.”

“No?”

“No.” He shakes his head. For a minute, Robert thinks that’s it, that’s all he’s going to say on the subject, but then, to his surprise (and maybe even Aaron’s), he says – “All I remember from when I was a kid is the rows. She left when I was eight.” 

He’s very matter of fact, but he doesn’t look at Robert, just frowns at the half-empty bottle beside his plate, turning it by the neck so that the label faces him. “We went a couple of years without talking, actually – and even when we _were_ talking it usually wasn’t good.” He turns his drink again so that the label faces outwards, before pouring the remainder into his glass.

“Still, you seem to have worked it all out in the end,” Robert tries to catch his eye. Jokes, careful, “A bit too well, possibly.”

He’s rewarded with a smile, small but genuine. “Yeah,” Aaron agrees. “Suppose we both sort of agreed to give each other a second chance.”

“Good,” Robert says, gaze warm on his face. “Maybe there’s still some hope for me, then.”

Aaron’s fork makes a sound against the side of the plate, but he doesn’t seem to hear it. “What?” 

His mouth is open, a little, and Robert can’t blame him. It came out naturally, without thought – easy, playful flirtation. But the setting, the low warm lighting, gives the words a sincerity Robert’s startled to hear in his own voice. _Jesus_. He sounds like he’s seconds away from pulling out a black velvet box and asking Aaron to make this official. 

“With Andy, I mean.” Robert focuses on his food again, dials the intensity back. “Vic managed to get him to the graveyard too. Don’t think he’s that keen on giving me a second chance just yet though.”

Aaron looks at him. “He will,” he decides. Offers, in that I’m-telling-you-something-real-but-don’t-make-a-big-deal-of-it tone, “Since you came back, you’ve - really put in an effort with him…and he knows that. This argument, whatever it’s about…it’ll blow over.”

Robert lets the smile spread across his face as takes a sip from his glass and says, “I didn’t realise you were keeping an eye on me.” It’s the proper amount of suggestive this time.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to look away, innit? Like watching a car crash,” Aaron fires back.

“Ey, you just told me I was doing a good job! You can’t take it back like that.”

“I said you’d _tried_ ,” Aaron corrects. Pauses a second for maximum impact, “Never said you’d succeeded though, did I?” 

It’s not meanspirited or hostile, just…sarky banter. The Aaron-version of affection, turned inside-out and the wrong-way around to disguise and downplay it. Maybe the Aaron version of flirtation, too – this relentless disparagement with a vein of amusement running through it. 

If it’s not, it’s poorly judged, because it has the same _effect_ on Robert as flirtation – an elated determination to keep pressing forward…to push this thing between them as far as it can go, to wrestle it down onto that double bed upstairs and explore every inch.

Later, when they’re finishing their coffees, Robert asks, “So what did Adam say to you this morning?”

The question keeps at bay the ‘what happens next’ that’s been prowling around their table in ever-decreasing circles since they’d finished their mains. And…Robert’s been wondering. He still remembers the slow-worming alarm that had eaten at him earlier that afternoon. 

Aaron looks up at him. “What?”

“Oh come on. You expect me to believe he didn’t try and put you off? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s not exactly a card carrying member of the Robert Sugden Appreciation Society.” He takes a final gulp of his cooling coffee. 

“Yeah, exactly.” Aaron swirls the dregs of his own drink. “Which is why he told me to go.”

“He told you to go?” Robert can feel confusion creasing his forehead as he puts his cup back on the saucer and pushes it away. 

“Are you kidding me – a whole night without you in the house? He offered to help me pack.”

 _And would you still have gone if he’d asked you **not** to?_ Robert wants to ask. Instead, he lets his eyes slide up Aaron’s chest to his face. “Is that the only reason you’re sitting here then? Charity?”

They both know it’s not, but Aaron is saved from having to answer by the reappearance of their server asking if she can clear the table. Robert pays up, and throws in a haphazard selection of notes on top of that, too impatient to bother calculating a tip. His heart begins a slow thump in his chest. 

‘What happens next’ has finally arrived.

In some strange way, the journey back upstairs feels like it takes longer than the entire meal. With every step, the double bed in his room looms larger and larger. Aaron slows as they walk down the blue-and-red carpeted corridor, then stops completely when they’re one door down from room 205.

“Suppose we should call it a night,” he says. He stays exactly where he is.

Robert looks at him, takes a deep breath of air that feels strangely alive. “Is that it?”

He shrugs. “What else is there?” 

“Well, considering I paid for dinner, a bit of appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.”

Aaron considers it. “Ta.”

“Oh, I think you can do better than that,” Robert tells him. He doesn’t remember it happening, but somehow, they’re standing very close, all but swaying into each other’s personal space.

“Yeah?” Aaron’s voice is low. “Like what?”

Robert likes dares – especially ones that sound like this. He takes that final step between them – then keeps going, until he’s pinning Aaron against the wall, and Aaron –

Aaron lets him.

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” he says, hands sliding to encircle Aaron’s wrists, holding them against the wood panelling in a loose grip – the kind Aaron could easily break away from if he wanted to. He doesn’t make any move to do so. _Fuck_ – they haven’t done anything yet and Robert’s body already feels weighed down with lust, drunk on it.

He leans in to press his mouth against the skin underneath Aaron’s ear – drinking in the hitch of breath this elicits – then the corner of his jaw, stubble prickling against his lips. He pulls back, just a little, to ask, “Any ideas yet?”

Aaron looks at him, eyes heavy-lidded – and as Robert watches, he lets them fall closed, in clear anticipation of Robert’s next move. Giving _permission_.

 _Kiss me_ , Robert thinks, but stops himself from moving forward, from closing the small distance remaining. Waits and waits, the tension twisting tighter and tighter inside him until finally, Aaron opens his eyes again, and _snap_. That’s _it_ – his hands come up to hold Aaron’s head in place while he moves in and takes ownership of Aaron’s mouth. 

Though it turns out to be more of a partnership than a takeover, since Aaron responds by wrapping his hands around Robert’s forearms and kissing back, the sweep of his tongue every bit as focused and proprietary as Robert’s. The lingering bitterness of coffee fades away as that first kiss melts into a series of kisses, a heated blur of soft lips, stuttering out into the occasional hot-breathed gasp against each other’s mouths…only to start up again immediately.

They’re still in the corridor, Robert is aware. His hands have slid down to palm Aaron’s arse, and the cream-painted wooden railing is pressing against his arms. In spite of the fact that they’re currently alone, someone could see them, could walk by and interrupt them, another guest or a black waist-coated member of staff–

– and there’s a bed in Robert’s room.

He kisses Aaron’s neck, does it again, then moves back a little. Aaron’s found his way beneath Robert’s jumper and shirt, fingers curling around his bare sides.

“Or,” Robert says, as if they’re in the middle of a conversation. He ducks in and kisses Aaron’s mouth, quick. And maybe it’s just the fact that they’re giving a live demonstration of foreplay in the hallway of the Parkview, but it’s suddenly amusing to him how much tonight has accidentally come to resemble an actual date, right down to the ‘is-it- **just** -a-kiss-goodnight?’ finale. “You could always come back to mine. Have a drink.” 

He kisses Aaron again, hands pulling their lower bodies close enough together that he can rub his cock against Aaron’s hip – confirm from Aaron’s instinctive thrust back that he’s in exactly the same state. That second double bed is most definitely redundant at this stage. 

“I’ve got coffee,” he breathes mindlessly into Aaron’s ear, as one of his hands slides round to grope Aaron’s dick through his jeans. He really doesn’t see himself breaking out the tea-tray in their immediate future. He can hear the smile curling through his words, soft and private. “D’you want to come back to mine for a coffee?”

Aaron looks right at him. “No.”

It’s sharp as a papercut to the chest. It makes him stumble back a step.

But Aaron grabs his wrist, keeps him from moving any further. “I meant – my room’s closer.”

*****

There’s ten seconds of separation, as Aaron elbows him away in order to work the keycard free of distraction, but as soon as the door opens, Robert’s crowding up against him, hands on his hips to pull him in again. Aaron throws out an arm and hits the lightswitch – more by accident than design, given that they’re attached at the mouth.

He steers them into the middle of the room without breaking contact, Robert’s hands already tracing scars and skin as he raises Aaron’s long-sleeved t-shirt up until Aaron has to lift his arms. As soon as it’s gone, Robert mumbles, “I want to fuck you,” into his mouth. His blood is boiling, throbbing hot throughout his body, between his legs. “Can I fuck you?”

Aaron looks at him, pupils dark. Then deliberately, he reaches out to unfasten the top button of Robert’s jeans and eases down the zipper, pushing the material down his thighs. The boxer briefs follow.

His stomach jerks whenever the back of Aaron’s fingers brush against it, and Aaron huffs out in response – breathy, amused. Robert rests his forehead against Aaron’s shoulder…from this angle, Aaron’s hand on his cock fills his vision, close up. Somehow more obscene because the tails of his shirt hang down like curtains, framing Aaron’s movement.

“You’re good at that,” he says. 

“Thanks,” Aaron says, deadpan, as he thumbs the head of Robert’s dick – but he’s looking down too, absorbed by the sight. Robert turns his head to the side, scrapes his teeth along Aaron’s neck, puts his tongue on warm skin. His hand slides up Aaron’s back, before Robert moves one finger slowly down along the line of his spine, flattening his hand to slide underneath the denim impeding his path. He keeps going until he’s pressing against Aaron’s entrance. “Can I?” he says again.

He knows he can – he wants the words. Aaron doesn’t give him the ones he expects though, pulling back to tell him, “In my bag. I brought stuff.”

It’s like being knifed by desire, brutal and uncompromising. “You’ve been thinking about it.” The smile on his face is so real it hurts. 

Aaron doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. Robert can feel him moving his weight back, onto his heels. He’s easier to translate when Robert’s touching him – he can read Aaron’s body like braille, and so he grips Aaron tighter, the tension under his hands smoothing away when he whispers, right into Aaron’s ear, “ _Me too. All the time_.” 

The last time…the first time they did this, it was abrupt, rushed. They’d gone at each other like they were starving, too hungry for it to slow down, to taste it. Now it’s different – every step deliberate and aching with intention. Moment by moment. Undressing, touching, kissing – there’s a weight to every piece of it, and none of it is hurried. 

Aaron prepares himself and the sight is burned into his brain. The bed dips as Robert kneels up on it, and even that small detail registers, takes on a kind of weight in his mind. He takes a minute to notice how well Aaron’s hips fit into his hands, takes a mental snapshot of how it looks, how good they look _together_ – his fingers tightening around Aaron’s skin, holding him steady. 

And when he finally, slowly pushes inside, dick enveloped in the incredible tightness of Aaron’s body, he stops – because _fuck_ , he’s _here_ – with _Aaron_ , this is _happening_ , and all those people who say ‘be careful what you wish for’ obviously have _no fucking clue_ , because this is exactly, _exactly_ what he wanted – and somehow _more_.

He draws out each thrust as much as he can, creating a relentless drag of pleasure. Along with the movement of skin on skin, there’s his and Aaron’s breathing – harsh and in tandem, then shaky and off-beat, it forms a kind of pornographic soundtrack that sends electric shudders down Robert’s spine.

He reaches around to grasp Aaron’s cock, relishing the heat and feel of it in his hand, the choked-off groan that Aaron makes as he squeezes and strokes. He presses his face between Aaron’s shoulderblades as he moves inside of him, the skin hot and damp against his cheek. No matter how much he tries to keep the brakes on, to balance _right here_ on the edge– there’s a point where it just becomes impossible. There’s only time to feel a sweep of exhilaration, pinpricked by disappointment when Aaron breathes out hard, head bowed, coming. But then he clenches down on Robert and his own orgasm just _slams_ into him, hard, knocking the breath from his body, and he can’t feel anything else.

Afterwards they both collapse on the bed. Aaron rolls over onto his back and Robert follows suit. He stares up at the cream coloured ceiling, until eventually, he finds the strength to turn his head to the side. He watches the rise and fall of Aaron’s chest, then reaches over to run a careful finger over the tip of his softening cock, making him jerk. “I was going to suck you off,” he says, conversational.

Aaron makes a hmm sound. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound it, particularly. 

“I thought about it a lot,” Robert says, mostly just to keep Aaron’s attention. His voice has a faraway tinge and every blink is slow, like his lids are heavy. But his eyes flash hot when Robert licks his finger, a swipe of bitter-salt on his tongue. “I had a plan.”

“Overselling it now,” Aaron decides, dry, but his left hand – the one that’s stretched out on the bedspread between him and Robert – twitches, before his fingers curl into his empty palm.

“Go on,” Robert says, propping himself up on his elbow. “You _can_ touch me – the world’s not gonna end if you do. I think we’ve just proved that.”

But Aaron looks at him for a long moment before he mumbles, “Yeah, well, early start tomorrow.” He squirms up on the bed and then turns onto his side, facing away from Robert. “You can let yourself out.”

He frowns and waits, but Aaron doesn’t turn back. 

Robert has never met _anyone_ with such appalling post-sex instincts. Yeah, all right – _get in, get off, get out_ – but there’s such a thing as fucking _finesse_. Robert wonders briefly whether Aaron pulls this shit with everyone, or whether it’s just him – but it only takes a second before reality kicks in. Because _that_ was a gold-star fuck, and there’s no way he’s getting the brush off _again_ , just because Aaron Livesy can’t cope with having his mind (among other things) blown. 

Well, there’s only one way to sort that. Robert moves, positioning himself behind Aaron, who jerks in response.

“I’m knackered,” he warns, so rigid and unwelcoming he might as well be a barbed wire fence with ‘Keep Out’ on it.

“Right…thanks for the news update,” Robert pulls even closer, until his chest is pressed right against Aaron’s back. “You gonna do the weather next? Traffic?”

“I _mean_ it – I’m done in,” Aaron says. Then, “You can leave anytime.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Though Robert sits up immediately after, it’s only to flick the light switch by the side of the bed, plunging the room into darkness. “If you’re that bothered about it, _you_ can take the other room,” he tells Aaron, slinging an arm over his waist. 

Aaron lies there thinking, his whole body tight like a frown. Robert can feel him as he makes the decision, an incremental thing instead of all at once – a cautious letting go, vertabra-by-vertebra. Robert experiences every inch of his hard-won agreement.

But, “You should set your phone,” is all that Aaron says.

*****

Robert wakes again an hour or so later, an odd, unpleasant mixture of too-hot where his skin is touching Aaron’s, and too-cold everywhere else. He can tell from the rhythm of Aaron’s breathing that he’s awake too, though he doesn’t say anything.

Robert rubs his face against Aaron’s back, takes a deep breath full of sex and sweat and the faint remnant of whatever showergel Aaron used that morning – a generic smell Robert’s nose characterises as ‘blue’. It’s enough to make his dick stir hopefully against Aaron’s arse. 

He’d booked the hotel, he’d _anticipated_ this, but the sweetness of events actually going along with his plan ( _Aaron_ going along with his plan) is like a much-needed patch of sunlight he wants to luxuriate in. 

He stretches a little, drags his mouth against Aaron’s shoulder, the back of his neck and says, “So, what changed your mind?”

Aaron lifts his head slightly off the pillow. “What?”

“You seemed pretty definite on the whole ‘two rooms’ thing yesterday. Not,” he slips the hand he’s got on Aaron’s stomach a little lower, “that I’m complaining.”

Aaron pulls a deep breath in through his nose, rubs his eyes. “S’obvious, innit?”

“Oh yeah?” Robert rocks his hips upwards, encouraging.

“Had too much to drink earlier.”

He rocks against the curve of Aaron’s arse again, but his hand pauses in its wandering. “Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” He bites Aaron’s shoulder. “You’re lying.” 

“You shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want to know,” Aaron shrugs, then shifts, nudging Robert back a little as he turns to face him. Robert can see the shine of his eyes in the dark. “I’ll tell you something though,” he says, confidential. 

“What?” Robert asks, and breathes in sharp as the back of Aaron’s hand grazes his cock.

As if Robert hadn’t made a sound, as if he hadn’t done it at all, Aaron says, “It’s definitely wearing off now.” This time, there’s no mistaking the touch of his hand for an accident, for anything other than the clear come-on it is.

As quickly as he thinks it, Robert’s got him rolled onto his back. He grins down at Aaron, a knee on either side of his hips. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Afterwards, he cleans Aaron’s cock with his tongue, until oversensitive, Aaron pulls him away. But the hand in his hair lingers and Robert looks up.

Aaron’s eyes take him in, steady, from forehead to chin, “It was gonna happen anyway,” he says. He sounds resigned, more than anything, which is what tips Robert off to what he’s talking about. 

It makes him frown. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I think I prefer the version of tonight where you’re off your face and I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want to know,” Aaron says again. Whatever he’s seeing in Robert’s face, his own is unreadable. 

When Robert slides up his body, Aaron lets him lay his head on his arm. Though that doesn’t matter. Robert can feel another of those minute seismic shifts, Aaron reassuringly solid next to him, and yet somehow, not entirely _there_ anymore. _Robert’s_ still here though, and that’s something.

He turns his face into Aaron’s shoulder, shuts his eyes and lets himself drift.

*****

The next time he wakes it’s with a curse because his fucking phone is fucking shrilling at them. He’s disoriented – Aaron jerks next to him and it makes Robert flinch before he reaches over to grab for his phone. He nearly knocks it off the nightstand before he manages to kill the fucking noise.

He flops back onto the bed, gritty and sluggish from not enough sleep. He closes his eyes, only to crack them open a second later at the betraying dip and rise of the mattress.

“What’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Aaron asks, as he starts picking clothes off the floor. In spite of his tiredness, Robert rises on his elbows to get the full effect, and even though Aaron’s back is to him, his shoulders go up, like he’s aware of being watched.

“Come here,” Robert says, sitting, palm up in invitation on top of the covers. They’re in a room with a double bed and their checkout is hours away. They really don’t need anything else right now, especially clothes.

Aaron (big surprise) disagrees. He turns and looks at Robert, “Right – cos it’s not like we’ve got somewhere to be, or anything.”

Robert tilts his head to the side, appreciating the view. “Nowhere important. It’s not like we have to meet this bloke.”

“He’ll be expecting us.”

“So what?” He swings his feet onto the floor. “He owns an Allegro – he’s obviously used to disappointment.” 

Aaron’s eyes skim his body in a breakneck flash as Robert stands – like he’s doing something he shouldn’t, but can’t quite stop himself. It makes Robert feel ten feet tall as he prowls over. He keeps going until he’s in front of Aaron. Who doesn’t move, doesn’t back down, just tips his chin up and stands there, solid and sleep-rumpled and entirely naked – and why is this even under discussion again?

“We don’t have to go,” Robert suggests, looping his arms around Aaron’s body, hands meeting at the small of his back. “Could always find something better to do.”

Aaron snorts, but there’s something soft in his face. “Engine, fuel sender unit, hopefully a rear motor wiper – any of this sounding familiar?” Maybe it’s just lack of sleep and he doesn’t have his shields firmly in place yet, but he looks like he wants to be convinced, even as he says, “This is why we’re here, remember?”

Robert leans in to confide, “Well, _you_ might be…but I’m pretty sure I didn’t lay all this out for the _car_.”

His mouth on Aaron’s is soft, promising. When he pulls back, he raises his eyebrows and waits.

There’s a flump of fabric at his feet as Aaron gives in, drops the clothes he’s holding – and kisses him back.

*****

They end up meeting with this Oliver Dixon (“Olly – please!”) anyway – though after showering, dressing, the ten minute search for Robert’s keycard so that he can retrieve his things – they get to Bush Hill Park a good three-quarters of an hour after the appointed meeting time.

Robert offers smooth apologies, but Olly-please (a genial beachball of a man, with more hair on the back of his hands than his head) is sanguine, in spite of his impending trip to Frankfurt. “Oh, I never make plans without giving a few hours leeway. You can’t afford to be too strict on timetables when you’ve got an Allegro.” He claps Robert on the arm and tells him, “You’ll learn.”

He eyes Aaron’s car with clear disappointment. “I thought you might be drivin’ her down today.”

Aaron stares at him. “It’s not got an engine.”

Olly-please looks back. For the first time that morning (a morning where Aaron had only picked up his phone after three missed calls, and it became obvious the guy wasn’t going to stop calling), he sounds almost offended. “Lad, the things I’ve seen these cars do, you would not _believe_.” 

“Probably not,” Robert agrees. 

Olly-please waits for a moment, as if expecting a flood of questions about these semi-miraculous feats. When none come, he deflates slightly and says, “Well…you’ll be wanting to see those parts.”

“That is why we’re here,” Robert says. His gaze tangles with Aaron’s, secret and hot, before Aaron looks away. 

They’re led to the shed, and while Aaron has a poke around, Olly-please chats with Robert. “It’s always so nice to meet a fellow enthusiast.”

Robert smiles a non-committal smile. “I’m sure. Not like it happens every day.”

“What drew you to the Allegro – if you don’t mind my asking?” he asks, as the point sails over his head. “The aesthetics? The history? The character?”

“Something like that,” Robert says. There’s an expectant silence, so he tears his eyes away from Aaron and tosses out a cursory, “Oh, uh – what about you?”

Olly-please considers it. “That’s a tough one. I’d have to say…the feeling I get when I’m behind that wheel. People _notice_ you in an Allegro. They wave and they laugh – it’s nice, to drive past someone and know that you’ve made their day.”

Right. Robert’s never met anyone who _enjoyed_ being the butt of a joke before. Olly-please continues, “I suppose I just like a car with a bit of personality.”

“Funny – I like a car with functioning brakes,” Robert says absently. He can tell just by the set of his body that Aaron’s amused. His head’s ducked down, and Robert can conjure up the way his skin feels and tastes without even thinking. It’s a good day. 

“Takes all sorts, doesn’t it?” Olly-please agrees, oblivious, as Aaron picks his way over the bits and pieces littering the floor to stand next to them. 

“All looks fine to me,” he tells Robert.

“Great – I’ll write you a cheque,” Robert says to Olly-please. He turns and his arm brushes against Aaron’s. “And then, why don’t we find somewhere to eat?” He doesn’t intend it, but his voice goes quiet, private as he offers, “I’ll buy you breakfast.” 

He flashes back to earlier, their hotel room, where apart from some token protests, Aaron’d been deliciously acquiescent. Heat curls in his stomach at the memory – bar suddenly finding a diamond encrusted horseshoe, it’s about as good an omen as he could hope for, moving forward. 

When they decide what happens next. 

Because surely there’s no way that even _Aaron_ could pull the ‘it never happened’ card again.

Fuck, what’s he thinking? It’s Aaron Livesy, human Gordian knot. If anyone _could_ , it’d be him. 

Still, even though all Aaron does is shrug and accept Robert’s offer with an, “All right,” there’s a low warmth to his voice that makes the hairs on Robert’s arms stand up. It makes him think that Aaron’s remembering the hotel room too.

This is going to work out exactly the way Robert wants it to.

Olly-please claps his hands together. “That sounds great, lads. I know _just_ the place.”

*****

And so instead of broaching the subject of last night over coffee and a cooked breakfast, they find themselves listening to Olly-please’s automotive history. He’s on his third (third!) Allegro. The fuel sender unit he’s sold Robert comes from his first car, and it becomes unnervingly apparent that Olly-please regards it more like a donor organ than a mere car part.

“It’s good to know she’s going to a good home,” he says. “Well, part of her. I’ve still got her side mirrors, myself.”

Despite the clear lack of interest, and Robert’s casual dropping of Frankfurt into the conversation, Olly-please appears to be in no hurry. Instead, he tells them about taking his first girlfriend to the cinema in the Allegro. “A real goer,” he says, and Robert doesn’t know (or care) whether he’s referring to the car or the girl in question. 

Aaron stoically mops up egg yolk with a piece of bread, and under the table, Robert stretches out his leg, so that their knees touch. He watches the way Aaron’s hand slows, stops, and then carefully resumes. Aaron doesn’t look at him.

Aaron also doesn’t move his leg away.

Finally, _finally_ , Olly-please’s croissant is reduced to flaky ashes on his plate, and he says, with a look at the two empty plates across the table, “Well – I suppose that’s that. Unless either of you’d like another cuppa?”

“No,” Robert says, immediately, and Aaron says, “We should really get going.”

Outside the café, he walks them to the car, but then he performs the only socially-considerate act since they’ve met, and declines the offer of a lift back to his home. He shakes his head and says, “I’ll walk off the damage.” 

Robert accordingly upgrades his dislike to mere indifference as Olly-please shakes his hand and tells him, “Stay in touch, eh? Us Allegro-enthusiasts are a fast-dying breed.”

Still, as Olly-please turns away, he can’t resist muttering, “Not fast enough.”

He sits into the car next to Aaron and closes the door. The engine’s already running.

“Suppose we should make a getaway, before he comes back,” he says, just to break the quiet.

Aaron nods, but he doesn’t put the car in gear, and they both stare out the windshield, as Olly-please ambles out of sight. 

“So, I have to ask,” Robert says, as lightly as he can manage. “Does what happens in London stay in London?” 

He glances over, nudges the suggestion out there, “Or…is it happening again?”

Aaron chews the corner of his mouth in silence for what feels like the longest minute of Robert’s life. But finally he comes to some kind of decision, because he lets his eyes fall shut and shakes his head, then turns in his seat to face Robert. “All right,” he says, but holds up a hand immediately, “ _But_ ” –

Something in his chest stops mid-triumphant-leap, and Robert schools his face into attention. 

Aaron looks at him, face set. “Before we do this, we need to make sure we both know the score.”

“Which is?” Robert prompts, as he lapses into silence.

Aaron takes a breath. “This…it’s just sex. Nothing else.” His voice is low, determined. “It’s not long-term, and neither of us goes making it into something that it’s not.”

Sitting in the passenger seat, Robert wants to laugh, loud and long, at the sheer unlikeliness of Aaron Livesy, insisting on the kind of terms that make him seem like a wet-dream come to life. Part of him wonders if he’s still asleep in the hotel room, alone in his double bed. 

He can't stop smiling. He doesn’t want to wake up. 

He lifts his hand, places it on Aaron’s thigh, and squeezes. “Fine by me,” he tells him.

For a moment he thinks Aaron is going to say something else, but instead he just nods, once, and shifts the car into first.

*****

They end up pulling over well before they reach Emmerdale. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron cast a critical eye over their surroundings. “Hope you weren’t expecting a trophy or owt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a tiny chapter...hopefully the next one will be up within the next day or two. Almost there! Only two more chapters! (...three at the most)

The sky was blue above them – bluer than he remembered, white clouds feathering into an azure background. The sunlight was different too. At the time it had been bright but wintry, spread across the landscape like a too-thin scraping of butter – now it was richer, deeper, warming Robert’s bones as he lay back on the bonnet of the white Audi, next to Aaron. Even the metal beneath him was sun-warm.

It was the quality of the memory, probably – grainy, like an old, abraded film. There were dark spots and scratches at the corners of his eye, skittering right across his vision every so often. Though that might just be the shadows of the branches overhead, moving in the breeze.

He turned his head to the side and watched the constantly changing pattern of light play over Aaron’s face. Slowly, soundlessly, leaves fell around them from the trees that bordered the road, twisting and spinning only to finally curl up brown and withered on the ground. 

To the other side of the car there were deep gouges, furrows like claw marks torn through the field off the layby. In the middle of it all, a red tractor lay on its side, one great wheel suspended ponderously in midair.

“It wasn’t like this, you know,” Robert said, attention returning to Aaron, who cracked an eye open and murmured, “Never happy, are you?”

Robert looked at him, and his heart clutched tight in his chest. “I’m happy now.”

They were pressed shoulder to shoulder, lying back against the windshield, but that wasn’t enough. He moved to catch Aaron’s hand in his, fingers winding certain through Aaron’s, linking them together.

Aaron turned his head, his eyes steady on Robert’s face. “You know we can’t stay here forever.” He smiled a little bit, and it pulled at Robert, like ripped stitches. “There’s nowhere left to go.”

No. Nowhere else, only here…and this was almost gone too.

“A bit longer though,” he said. “Just – a bit longer.”

And for a scant few minutes, there was silence, warm sun and sky, and Aaron breathing next to him. 

All too soon, it was over. 

“Suppose this could’ve been worse,” Aaron said as he sat up. A sigh and half-shrug, “Mind you, I’m not sure how.”

Robert studied the small hunch of his back, the line of his neck, the curve of Aaron’s cheek as he looked down. Love welled up in him fierce and sudden – and how could this much feeling just _vanish_? It couldn’t. There had to be some place _for_ it. 

“I wish it had been different,” he said. “If I could do it again, it’d be different.”

“Bit late for that now.”

“Is it, though?” He stared at Aaron’s face, fruitlessly burning it into his mind. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

“Oh yeah – all the way to the finish line.” Aaron cast a critical eye over their surroundings. “Hope you weren’t expecting a trophy or owt.”

Robert raised a hand to touch him, beard-bristles and skin reassuring against his palm. “It might not have _worked_ , but it’s not…it’s not _nothing_. And okay…after tonight, you won’t exist in _here_ anymore,” he put his index finger to his own temple before dropping it, “but – you’re still out _there_. And so am I. That’s a – it’s a start, isn’t it?”

He tried to smile. “Maybe I’ll find you again…do everything right this time.”

“And how likely is that, d’you think?” Aaron slid off the car and onto his feet. “Seeing that, as you're not gonna remember who I am, you won’t have any reason to come looking.” 

“It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility,” Robert argued, reluctant to cut the last thread of hope that connected them. “It could happen.”

“It could. But it probably won’t.” At his look, Aaron leaned on the bonnet, a hand on either side of Robert’s knees, and allowed, “It’s a nice thought, though.”

“Come on, Aaron – don’t get all fatalistic on me now,” Robert said. He curled his fingers around Aaron’s wrists. “I know it’s not much…but there’s a _chance_ , at least. Just – give me that much. Please.”

He made a face as he considered it, the pull of his eyebrows and his mouth so familiar to Robert that it hurt. “Tell you what,” he said finally, “You feel free to come back and prove me wrong, anytime.”

“Well, now I’ve got to do it, don’t I?” Robert managed.

“All right.” Aaron smiled back, small and tender and disbelieving.

“You don’t think I will?”

He didn’t answer, just pressed his palms against the metal of the car, pushing himself back upright. 

Fuck. It was hard to breathe. “Is that it then?” Robert asked, ice-numb with denial. It couldn’t be. “Aren’t you even gonna say goodbye?”

Aaron looked at him. “I’ll see you around,” he said simply, and turned.

He started to walk away from the Audi, from Robert, and toward the blue van. The light was changing, dimming to a golden tinged sepia, and there was a pressure in Robert’s head, so heavy it made it hard to speak. 

“Aaron – wait! Where are you going?” he forced the words out. “ _Aaron!_ ”

Aaron kept moving. Without turning he called back, each word distant but somehow clear as a brand at the same time, “Home. It’s where you go when there’s nothing else left.”

Another stride, two, and then Robert couldn’t stand it anymore, launching himself off the car, feet swallowing the distance between them, hands coming up to spin Aaron around.

And then they were kissing –

Up against the wall by the Woolpack backstairs. “ _You wanna do a one night stand_ ” –

In the dark of the garage. “ _Okay. But first I wanna know_ ” –

By the blue van parked by the side of the road. “ _This isn’t your_ ” –

Hands fisting his leather jacket, “– _you do it away from home next time, right_?”

The bark of a dog somewhere outside, and the glitter of an unspoken 'yes' in Aaron's eyes, “– _one thing…_ ”

His fingers brushing warm skin, the unsteady lurch of the ground beneath his feet, “– _first time, is it?_ ”

The shadows began to lick their way in from the edges, the soft light surrounding him and Aaron smearing, dissipating, as the remaining memories came faster and faster – a relentless barrage, unstoppable. And then it was…it was...

It was _a tornado of moments ripping through Robert like shrapnel_ -

The agitated clink of bottles. “Yeah, you don’t know the first thing about me. I mean, look where you brought me. A _gay bar_.”

“Maybe I know you more than you think. Maybe I’m the only one who knows you at _all_.”

– _blurring everything that remained into obscurity, and_ –

“These sorts of things, it’s best” –

A scoff. “‘These sorts of things’? Sounds like you’ve done it before.” One-night stand repaid by having his car smashed up, then being charged for the repairs by the bloke who’d wrecked it in the first place... 

No, Robert had never done anything like _this_ before. 

– _smudging it into nothingness_ –

An invitation extended ( _just a drink_ ), a little thing, tentative.

Easily crushed. “But why on earth would I wanna go anywhere with you?” A flickering view of Aaron striding away through the rain speckled windshield.

– _unknown_ –

Two takeaway cups. “Can we start over?” The coffee inside warm against his fingers even through the containers. And then - not.

– _undone_ –

A nudge. “That what you do for tips round back of the garage, ey? Dirty little greasemonkey.”

Nothing compared to Aaron’s elbow-to-the-ribs rejoinder. “Well I’ll remember that for when I stop being gay, ay?” 

– _unlived_ –

Chrissie, keys in her hands. “…you know, the one that isn’t Cain.”

“…Aaron.” The counter digging into his back. 

– _until within the space_ –

The glint of a ring as it was placed in front of him, on one of The Woolpack tables. “This is yours, innit?”

“Well, not mine personally, but…” Tucked into his pocket, sorted. A huff of air as Aaron turned to go, directed at himself, or Robert – cynicism at maybe having expected something more. 

– _between one breath_ –

A flash of Goon Number Two (the quieter one, who somehow managed to radiate distaste and judgment with a fucking balaclava atop his head) leaning over a chairback. 

“What – not seen anything you like?” And what business had he looking at Robert like that? 

– _and the next_ –

His own voice bouncing hard off concrete walls – “I don’t negotiate with idiots.”

“Oh really? That’s all right then, negotiate with me.” Just some bloke, one of a dodgy pair. Points for trying, though it wasn’t going to work on Robert. 

“I mean, there must be summat we can do to make this disappear…” Idiot Number One continued to yammer, words growing faint, swirling away.

– _it was all_ –

The fucking wedding reception, “Same again,” directed at Chas, pale-faced child and white lattice-worked wood behind her, but suddenly everything was…

_**…gone**_.

There was nothing left.

He only had a second to feel it, to draw in an arctic breath, loss spearing through him…

Then that was gone, too.

*****

The next morning, he woke up.

*****

_He stays in the same hotel for a couple of days, pacing the carpet. Chrissie’s blocked his number, so that’s out. Lawrence and Lachlan…yeah, no point in even trying. He feels jittery, off-balance - he has for the past two days, since this whole thing started. There’s an itch under his skin, but it’s more than that. It’s like he’s missing something fundamental, some small, vital piece that keeps him in working order. He feels like a stopped clock._

_In a way, it’s almost comforting. He holds on to it, tight. It’s proof. Proof that he loves Chrissie. Proof that he’s real, that his feelings are genuine._

_That lasts well into the third day. On the fourth, the terrifying gape of aloneness gets to him, and he ends up going out and picking up a stranger. The sex is a distraction, even if there’s a hollowness at its centre._

_He keeps coming back to the same thing, hitting up against the undeniable fact like a brick wall – if he only knew what he’d done (what Chrissie **knows** he’s done)…he’s sure he could manage it. As it is, his mind whirs and churns, but there’s no purchase. He can’t scheme his way out of trouble if he’s got no idea what trouble he’s in._

_And all the while, this odd compulsion grows in him – to leave this hotel room, this town, Chrissie and Lawrence and Lachlan – and find his way back to somewhere older, more familiar._

_It’s stupid. He’s not nostalgic – or at least, not to the point of showing up with his tail between his legs, and nothing to show for his years of absence besides a shaky marriage and a cheque from his father-in-law for far less than he’s worth. But the idea pulses insistently in his head – he can’t think, can’t even begin to solve his problem with Chrissie, and it’s not like **there** could really be any worse than **here** , when it all comes down to it. So he gives in with bad grace, even as he assures himself it’s just a temporary, tactical retreat, and that maybe a bit of space is exactly what he needs to fix his marriage._

_He packs his bags and checks out of the hotel._

_**Home** , he thinks. **It's where you go when there’s nothing else left**._


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right. So, to stop my mum from thinking you’re my boyfriend, you’re gonna act even more like my boyfriend.” Aaron leaves a moment for it to sink in. “That’s brilliant, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to have a sinking feeling this will probably be 28 parts instead of 27. Thanks to momecat for looking over a sticky bit and giving advice :)

Driving back into Emmerdale, it feels like they’ve been away a lot longer than one night. Counting in stops (one food, one petrol and one…miscellaneous), by the time they make it back evening is closing in, and it’s already November-dark. Their headlights sweep Main Street – the café, a bundled up trio of women crossing toward the pub, warmth filtering through the little windows of Keeper’s Cottage – to Robert, everything looks both familiar and strange at the same time.

When the car is finally slotted back in The Woolpack car park (in the same space, even), Aaron turns the key and switches off the engine. 

Outside, normality waits, but here, it’s still just them, the car a shield keeping the rest of the world at bay – and Robert doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t see why it _should_ end. He reaches out and puts a hand on Aaron’s knee – there’s still a sharp thrill to that, to seeing his hand on Aaron’s body, to knowing he _can_ touch Aaron now. It makes him feel exultant. It makes him want to touch Aaron even more. 

“You planning on getting out anytime soon?” Aaron says. They both watch Robert slide his palm further up his denim-covered leg, squeeze a little. 

“Is this how you treat everyone who shows you a good time?” Robert says. “‘There’s the door, don’t let it hit you on the way out’?”

“Only them that can’t take a hint,” Aaron says, dry – but there’s warmth behind the words. 

“It’s just a bit of an anti-climax.” His fingers journey up the inseam along Aaron’s inner thigh. “All things considered.”

Aaron stares at him. “Are you mental? Mate, I don’t care how dark it is, if we have it off in the middle of The Woolie car park, _someone_ will notice. Believe me.”

“Well then it’s a good thing that’s not what I’m suggesting, isn’t it?” He consults the watch on his left wrist. “Cain should be clocking off soon though…which means we can have the garage all to ourselves. If you’re interested.”

Aaron’s leg shifts under his palm as he weighs the offer up. “Probably shouldn’t. I’ll have enough aggro from me mum as it is.” He looks toward the back door. “I bet she’s inside right now, just itching to have a go.”

“And you – what? – can’t wait to get in there so she can start? Suppose that’s one way to spend an evening.” Another squeeze of the firm muscle of Aaron’s thigh – the unspoken alternative. 

Aaron’s eyes flick down to Robert’s hand, then back to the door. The tip of his tongue is just visible as he wets his lips. 

“I’ll meet you there in fifteen,” he decides.

*****

“Rob – is that you?” he hears as soon as he closes the door behind him. A second later and Vic’s poking her head out from the kitchen. “Welcome back, stranger. I was just about to call you.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” he says, as he drops his leather holdall by the stairs. “It was one night away.” From where he’s standing, he can see the back of Adam’s head, pointedly not turning to acknowledge him. Robert has to bite back a laugh, because Adam _really_ thinks a little thing like _that_ is going to matter to him after last night, when he’d only gone and got _everything_ he’d been wanting?

He’s not even counting this morning. Or the side of the road not two hours ago.

Vic takes him in, head tipped to the side. “You look pretty pleased with yourself,” she says. “I take it that means it went well, then?”

The hotel room floor with his and Aaron’s clothes in careless, crumpled heaps, flashes through his mind. “We got those parts,” Robert tells her. “So, my car finally has an engine. It’s mobile now.” He stops for a second. “In theory, at least. Reckon that’s something worth celebrating.”

“If you say so,” Vic says. She breathes out and sort-of smiles. “All right, well, come in and give us all the details. There’s a bit of stir fry left over…we can have a quick n’ dirty catch-up, and then” –

“Actually, I’m heading back to the garage,” Robert says. “Just came by to drop off my bag.” He gestures toward the leather holdall like evidence. 

Adam does turn in his seat then, suddenly and unceremoniously dropping the pretence of ignoring him. “You what?”

Vic blinks. “Let me get this straight – after basically spending the last twenty four hours with Aaron, the first thing you wanna do when you get home is…go to the garage and spend _more_ time with him?”

“Yeah, come on – I’d say the poor lad’s definitely earned a break by now.”

He cuts his eyes over to his brother-in-law’s frowning face for a moment, pointedly thinking about the heat and tightness of Aaron’s body, his unsteady breathing as Robert fucked him, harder, faster – and says, in his most reasonable voice, “The car’s not gonna fix itself, is it, Vic?”

“Well, yeah, but surely you could take one night o” –

“Can’t you invade my privacy some other time?” he interrupts. “Only I’ve really got to go.”

She crosses her arms. “Oh, right. Sorry for trying to show a bit of interest in my own brother’s life.” 

“Look, I’ll tell you about it later,” he says, relenting. A highly edited version, obviously.

“Yeah. You’d better,” she tells him. He thinks that’s it, and he’s got his fingers on the door-handle when she calls, “Robert?”

“What?” He turns, trying to tamp down the exasperation that keeps leaking into his voice. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Vic has the faintest hint of a line between her eyebrows. “Just…say hi to Aaron from us, all right?”

*****

He always forgets how fucking _yellow_ the Allegro is – like a radioactive egg yolk – and it hits him again when he ducks inside the garage. Most of the front’s been stripped and boxed up at this stage, and Aaron’s busy at work on the back. Robert watches him, but Aaron doesn’t seem inclined to stop, eyes raking over Robert before returning to what he’s doing.

“You know, when I said we’d have the garage to ourselves, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he comments as he strolls over.

“Restoring the car is kind of why we’re here in the first place,” Aaron reminds him.

Well, _technically_ they’re here in the first place because Aaron has a vindictive streak and Robert called his expensive bluff. But that’s sort of a mood-killer, so Robert decides not to mention it right now.

“Yeah, but we won’t _have_ that excuse if you actually fix it up,” he says. He eases himself into the space right behind Aaron, so that he’s pressed all along Aaron’s back when he straightens and stands. 

“And you really think that’s in danger of happening anytime soon?” Aaron says, shoulders hunching so that Robert can’t rub his nose against the short hair at the back of his neck. 

Taking the hint, he steps back and surveys the Allegro. After all their work – dealing with the leprous patches of rust, replacing the wing, sorting out the floor pans…

…it still looks like it needs the automotive equivalent of life support. 

“Probably not, but” –

“Then what’s the problem?”

He doesn’t sound upset – just…normal, the way he usually does, downplayed and stoic. And he’s _here_ , which is surely the main thing. Still, Robert frowns at him. “Why don’t _you_ tell _me_? Is something wrong? Your mum been kicking off?”

“No.” Aaron looks straight back, but it still feels like he’s not meeting Robert’s eyes. “No more than usual, anyway,” he amends, with a small shake of his head. Yeah, there’s a story _there_. 

Robert raises his eyebrows and waits. 

“I just. I want to make sure _this_ ,” he gestures awkwardly between them, “doesn’t muck up our schedule. Cain’s already doing my head in about how long this thing’s gonna be here.”

“Er, since I’m paying him for the privilege, I’d say he’s welcome to complain as much as he likes.” Robert reaches out, but Aaron jerks away. 

He lets his arms fall, irritated. Jesus, it’s like a fucking _cult_ – twenty minutes ago, he’d had Aaron’s gaze dropping toward his mouth as they arranged to meet up. But within the ten minutes he’d been out of Robert’s sight, Chas or Cain, or possibly random strangers off the street, have somehow indoctrinated him back onto the anti-Robert side of the electrified fence. 

He wishes they’d just stayed in the car. Or the hotel. Things were simpler there. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind” –

“What – _no_.” Well, the denial’s gratifyingly quick, at least. Not to mention it’s also a _denial_ , Aaron looking at him with a frown and these wanting eyes, like _Robert’s_ the one dangling the possibility of sex only to whip it away like a cat toy. 

In a lower voice, Aaron continues, “No – I meant what I said. We can do this. I just…” He pushes out a breath. “…I need to make sure it’s not gonna interfere with – real life. That’s all.”

“Seriously? _That’s_ what’s bothering you?” Robert asks. The corners of his mouth pull up, good humour restored. Casual and discreet – well, that’s a _given_. After all, he’s hardly going to be wrestling Aaron down in the street and forcing him to hold hands, is he? 

He steps forward, palms coming up to slide along Aaron’s arms, and this time, Aaron doesn’t shrug him off. “You _really_ don’t have anything to worry about,” Robert tells him, the words dragging out, slow.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks. His voice has dipped too.

“Yeah,” Robert agrees.

But as he leans in, Aaron’s hand shoots out to his chest, keeping him in place. “Prove it, then.”

A disbelieving stare is the only logical response, but Aaron just looks back at him, like he hasn’t just shuffled all the cards right in the middle of a game. 

Still, he’s touching Robert. 

And – _we can do this_ , he’d said. 

Robert covers Aaron’s hand with his, before sliding his fingers down, just inside the sleeve of Aaron’s hoodie, thumb over the warm, thin skin of his wrist. 

“Robert,” he says. It’s probably intended to be sharp, a remonstrance. Instead it wavers into something else. _We can do this_ , Robert hears again, and it makes him willing to play along, even if he wants to roll his eyes at Aaron’s latest roadblock. Because it’s _temporary_ , this time. Aaron’s as much as admitted it. _We can do this_.

There’s no way Robert’s walking out on a promise like that. “I take it we get a break at least?”

“What?” He can feel the jump of Aaron’s pulse against the pads of his fingers. 

“I take it,” he repeats, slower, “that we get a break. In between all this work you’re so keen on. Or after. After’s good too.”

Aaron’s gaze is mindless, drifting over his features. “Depends on how much we get done.”

Robert presses the side of his face against Aaron’s and confides, “I’m not doing this without a guaranteed break.”

Aaron pulls back, and shrugs – at odds with the hint of challenge on his face. “Suppose you’d better impress me then.” 

He might as well be saying it again – _we can do this_.

Robert holds his eyes, adrenaline already sparking in the pit of his stomach. He can do this.

_They’re_ doing this.

*****

When he lets himself back into Keeper’s, it’s two hours later and the sitting room and kitchen are both empty. He gives a mental shrug, and helps himself to the remains of Vic’s stir fry from the fridge. He’s starving.

His mouth still feels raw, skin prickling with the memory of Aaron’s scruff, the contrast it provided with soft lips and tongue. A half-hearted hour’s work followed by a much more enjoyable whole-hearted hour of slacking off (during which Aaron was definitely _not_ thinking about their derailed schedule)…as compromises go, Robert can live with it. Nothing against seething sexual frustration, but Robert will take tea followed by reciprocal blowjobs any day of the week.

Caught up in remembering the capable, quick way Aaron had unbuttoned and unzipped him, he doesn’t hear the steps on the staircase – so when Andy enters the kitchen, he chokes, ginger burning his throat and making him cough.

“Sorry,” Andy says. “I wasn’t trying to startle you. I just thought I heard someone.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me.” The sarcasm is diluted by the fact that his voice is mostly wavering breath. He grabs his half-full glass of water and forces a few gulps down. Better.

“Sorry,” Andy says again. Then, “Vic tells me you got what you wanted in London.”

Robert coughs again.

There’s a brief, awkward pause. He waits for Andy to leave.

“They’ve gone out,” he says instead. “In case you were wondering. Thing in the pub with Diane and Bernice.”

“Why are you here, then? Putting out the welcome mat for me?” Robert asks. 

Given the way they’d left things pre-London, Andy really should bugger off now, trailing wounded dignity behind him like a signature scent. But although he shifts his weight, he doesn’t make any move to leave. 

Maybe Vic was right, and he’s finally coming round. Robert looks at him with interest, but Andy just stands there in silence, arms folded, frowning down at the floor.

He chances a, “So…anything happen while I was away?” but Andy just shakes his head, and shuts it down with, “Nothing much, to be honest.”

The silence between them creaks, and Robert gives up, pushing himself to his feet with a, “Look, I’m shattered, so if it’s all the same to you” –

“She never let anything go,” Andy says suddenly.

He stops. “What?”

“Katie. You asked, before.”

“I did,” Robert says, slowly, trying to feel this out. Andy’s got his head up now, something like defiance in his stance. “I asked you to tell me something she did that annoyed you.”

“Well. There you are.” He shrugs and repeats, “She never let anything go.” The line of his body slumps into something softer. “Mind you, she was right not to, most of the time. But I wish…”

He stops, and even though the words that come next are simple, easy to guess at, it takes him some time to get them out – like he’s trying to piece something that’s been broken. But finally, with a small not-smile, he says, “I just – wish that she had, sometimes.”

“Andy…” Robert says, with no clear idea of what he’s going to say next. 

Not that it matters, because Andy just looks away and says, “That’s all I wanted to say, really,” before turning and jerkily walking out of the room.

*****

The next morning, over coffee, he brings it up with Vic. “Did you talk to Andy while I was away?”

She makes a face and shakes her head. “No. Didn’t get a chance to, in the end. I can if you want, though – if you feel it’d help?”

“No, it’s all right.” He tacks on a precautionary, “I think.”

She looks pleased. “You two’ve made up, then?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Robert says, “but I do feel a bit less concerned for my safety being the same room as him now.”

“Well, I will take what I can get,” Vic tells him. She rubs her thumb over the smooth ceramic of her mug. “I know Andy can be stubborn, but it’s like Diane says – he always comes right eventually.”

“Score one for Diane, then.”

“Er, more like one million,” Vic corrects. “You know, considering how long she’s been doing this.”

“Hang on, are you calling Diane old?” Robert says, aiming for shocked. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll have to tell her that, next time I see her.” 

Vic narrows her eyes. “Oh very funny. You’d want to hear what she says about _you_.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t, actually.” He takes a drink, and when he glances up again, Vic’s taking him in. She’s wearing one of their mum’s expressions on her face.

He clears his throat. “All right – spit it out.”

“What?”

“What d’you think? ‘ _Coffee, Rob?_ ’” He mimics her voice and the tap she’d given his bedroom door earlier. “You know, the lead in to your little twenty questions routine.”

“Oh. Was it that obvious?” she asks.

“Well, it wasn’t subtle.” He waits for a second. “So, come on – I’m waiting.”

Vic gets to her feet and collects their mugs, emptying the dregs and depositing them in the sink. Then she turns and, in a fake-casual voice that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, she says, “Actually…I did have one question.”

“Just one?”

“I swear,” she says, drawing an ‘x’ over her heart with her index finger.

He eyes her, but she’s obviously waiting on his go-ahead. Which curiosity compels him to give. “What is it?”

She takes a deep breath. “Did you have a good time?”

“Are you kidding me? That’s it? _That’s_ what you want to know?”

“It’s what I’m asking, isn’t it?”

“I don’t get it. What happened to ‘give me all the details’?” he asks. “And, ‘My husband can’t be bothered to take me anywhere nice, which means I have this need to live vicariously through my brother’?”

A reproachful little-sister glare. “I never said that last one.”

“Didn’t you?” He thinks back. Allows, “I suppose it _was_ more implied.”

Vic sits back down as she admits, “You were right, you know. It’s not really any of my business, is it?” A beat. Two. “But…did you? Have a nice time?” 

It’s instinctive, the urge to downplay it. “It – really wasn’t that big a deal, Vic. I mean, an overnight in London, tracking down car parts? Hardly the stuff of dreams, is it?” 

But even though the words churn out immediately, they’re so at odds with the elation still buzzing through his blood at the memory…that they feel sticky with reluctance in his mouth. Still, when all’s said and done, he hasn’t actually _lied_ and _said_ it was terrible, has he?

Not that he would have a problem doing that – if Vic pressed him.

As if she can read his mind, Vic’s eyes are intent on his as she surmises, “But…you had a good time anyway, yeah?”

Cornered, he folds the massive, chest-thumping _achievement_ that is sleeping with Aaron Livesy down as small as he can. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it was – alright.”

She nods, seemingly to herself. “Good,” she says. “I’m glad.”

*****

A couple of hours later, and he finds himself taking a leaf out of his sister’s book – popping into the café five minutes before closing and procuring two takeaway coffees. Though, in his case, it’s not so much to start a conversation as it is to (hopefully) avoid working on his four-wheeled excuse for a motor. They did enough last night, and he really doesn’t see the point – not when they’ve got so many better options now.

When Robert proffers one of the cups, Aaron stares down at his hand like he’s never seen a takeaway coffee before. “What’s this in aid of?” he asks finally.

“You’re welcome,” Robert tells him. Aaron still makes no move to take it. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to do a nice thing, here.”

“Yeah, and I asked you why.”

“I do nice things sometimes,” he protests, before making his voice thick with innuendo. “I thought you’d know that by now.” 

He holds the cup up again. With a last suspicious glance, Aaron takes it.

“You should drink that before it gets cold,” Robert advises.

It’s while they’re standing around and doing just that that they hear a voice calling out, “Knock knock?” 

It’s not even the fact that Robert thought they were finally _past all this_ that causes the spontaneous _Fuck!_ reaction – more that said voice sounds an awful lot like…

Chas Dingle steps into the garage. She’s wearing a hat, a coat, and a too-wide smile that disappears as Aaron stares at her and demands, “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, Mum,” she says. “Nice to see you. Let me roll out that red carpet – no, I insist, it won’t take a minute.”

“Mum. You’re here,” he acknowledges, unmoved. “Why?”

“I thought I should pop in – finally get a look at this ‘project’ that’s been taking up so much of your time.” Her eyes drift past them and to the Allegro and she blinks. “Blimey – Cain wasn’t lying, was he? You got any spare sunglasses lying around?”

“Yeah, I think we’re all aware it’s yellow,” Robert tells her.

Chas aims a thin-lipped crust of a smile his way. 

“Right, well – now you’ve seen it,” Aaron says. “So you can go. We’ve got work to do here.”

“Yes, I can see you two are hard at it,” she says, flicking a finger at the cardboard coffee cup he’s holding. At his look, “All right, all right, I’m going – but first, there’s something I need to say.”

“ _Mum_ …”

She holds up her hands, placating, but somehow stubborn at the same time. Family trait, obviously. “It’s nothing bad – I promise. And you can argue all you want, but you might as well give in now, because I’m not leaving until I’ve said it.”

Aaron surveys the ceiling. “ _Fine_. I’m listening.”

“Glad to hear it…even if I don’t believe ya – but who says it’s _you_ I want to talk to? No offence, love, but I don’t have to leave home to do that.” And to both their surprise, she swings around to face Robert.

“Me?”

“I don’t see anyone else here – do you?” she says. She takes a breath, readying herself. “Listen – I know you and I haven’t – always seen eye to eye, but clearly, I was wrong. And I can admit that now.”

As semi-apologies go, it’s so fake it might as well have been inexpertly photoshopped into existence. 

“You…can?” he says, glancing at Aaron to see how he’s taking this. He half-expects an immediate contradiction on Chas’ part. 

“What?” From the sounds of it, Aaron’s on the same page. 

Chas shrugs. “I just think it’s time I faced facts. This has been going on for weeks – the two of you, spending every minute you can together…and now your little trip to London” – 

“– to source _car parts_ ,” Robert interrupts, because something in the way she says it rubs him up the wrong way.

Innocence is caked on her face as she says, “Of course. Did I say it was for something else?” It doesn’t completely mask the satisfaction in her voice though. “The point I’m making is…maybe I was a bit hasty, earlier, writing you off. You’re obviously sticking around, and – I need to get used to that.”

She widens her eyes at Robert, like ‘your move.’

“Well, thanks,” he says, smooth and insincere. “That really means a lot to me, coming from you. I’m touched.”

“Good,” she says, almost overlapping his last word. “Then you’ll say yes if I invite you to a family dinner? You know, to give us a chance to bury the hatchet?”

“Bury it where, exactly?” Robert wonders.

“Mum – _what_ are you on about?” Aaron grabs her elbow, attempting to pull her away for some privacy. Chas resists and ignores him, smiling one of those narrow smiles at Robert and commenting, “That’s funny. Maybe you can sit next to Cain. He likes people with a sense of humour.”

“Cain?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a family dinner if the whole family weren’t there, would it?” Chas says. “That’s…not a problem for you, is it? I mean, since you and Aaron are such good friends.” 

And – _there it is_. The reason for this big apology song and dance, winking right in front of him. Now that he and Aaron have finally moved past their whole ‘this never happened’ misunderstanding, Chas has obviously sensed _something_ …and so she’s pre-emptively shit-stirring. Robert feels a kind of detached admiration at her sheer dedication to being this skin-peelingly irritating. 

“Listen - whatever it is you’re doing, I want you to stop,” Aaron tells her. “Right now.”

“What? It’s just a simple invitation,” Chas says. “Gesture of goodwill and all that. And – no offence, but it’s not like Robert’s got all that much on, is it? I’m sure he could fit it in to his schedule. If he wanted.” She tips her head to the side. “Well? What do you say?”

“ _No_ ,” says Aaron.

Robert shrugs. “Love to.”

He’s treated to twin expressions of shock and a momentary, stunned silence. 

“You what?” Aaron says. He stares at Robert, eyebrows drawn together in pure disbelief.

Chas blinks. “I’m sorry, could you just – repeat that? Because there is no way – _no way_ – that I just heard you say” –

“Why not?” Robert revels in the gape-mouthed look she gives him. “I mean – it’s like you said, Aaron’s a friend. And why would I say no to a family dinner with a friend? What day were you thinking?” He pastes a blandly interested look on his face. 

_**Your** move_.

Chas tries to rally. “I – I hadn’t actually…um…how about” –

“Uh, how about _never_ ,” Aaron cuts in. “Because it’s not happening.”

“Oh, don’t call it off on account of me.” Robert keeps his eyes on Chas. “Like I said – _I’ve_ got no problem with it.”

“Well I _do_ ,” Aaron glares at them. “So if you two want to plan a karaoke and pizza party, go ahead – but leave me out of it.”

“Aaron” – Chas begins.

“ _No_. Now, are you done here?”

“Yeah.” She presses her lips together, uncharacteristically subdued. “Yeah, I think so.”

Aaron extends his palm toward the door, and Robert has to smirk down at the concrete as she leaves, chin high. When he looks up, it’s just him and Aaron, who doesn’t seem as amused.

“What are you playin’ at?” he demands.

“What?”

“You’d _love to_ have dinner with my family?”

“Well, ‘love to’ is probably putting it a bit strong,” Robert has to admit. After all, Aaron’s a diluted-Dingle and so far, he’s the only one Robert can stand. There are _a lot_ of Dingles. “But your mum asked.”

“I _know_ she asked. What I _don’t_ know is why you would say yes.”

Robert shrugs. “Throwing a party to celebrate us being friends – all right, it’s OTT, but at least it’s a step up from having your uncle punch me in the face.”

“ _Friends_?” Aaron stares at him. “Yeah, did I ever tell you about the spread she laid out for Adam? No? Oh wait – that’d be because it never happened.” 

“Well, I can understand that – start feeding someone like Adam, you’ll never get rid.” He pauses. “That’s probably how Vic got landed with him.”

“Newsflash – my mum didn’t invite you to a big family do because she thinks we’re _mates_ , all right? She thinks we’re…” he stops, mouth thinning in irritation as Robert looks back, refusing to get it. “…having it off.”

“Really? I never would have guessed,” Robert rolls his eyes, and Aaron frowns at him, thrown. 

“But – then why would you agree?”

“Thinking’s not _knowing_ , is it?” he points out. “And as long as you’ve not actually said anything to her…” he stops, unsettled by _something_ , some tiny movement – or lack of movement. “ _Aaron_ – you’ve not _said_ anything, have you?”

He snaps out, “Of course not. What d’you take me for?” 

Robert scrutinises him, but Aaron glares back, like he’s daring him to find anything. “Okay,” he decides, eventually. “Then what’s the harm in playing along – if it keeps her off our backs?”

“Right. So, to stop my mum from thinking you’re my boyfriend, you’re gonna act even more like my boyfriend.” He leaves a moment for it to sink in. “That’s brilliant, that is.”

“I’m just saying, if we’ve not got anything to hide, then why are we acting like we do? And if pretending to be mates in front of your family is what it takes to throw them off…why not?”

He looks at Robert. “Yeah. Because people actually knowing, that’d be the worst thing ever, wouldn’t it?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one insisting on secrecy here, am I?” he says, nettled. “ _It’s just sex_ – who said that?”

“I also said this wasn’t supposed to interfere with _real life_ , remember?” Aaron counters. “So what d’you call this?”

It’s only then that Robert realises they’re in the middle of a full blown argument about _having dinner with Aaron’s family_.

It’s obviously for very different reasons than the norm, which is why he didn’t twig it sooner – but still. It resembles _real life_ so closely that it’s no wonder Aaron’s spooked. Honestly, it makes Robert twitch too.

“Right,” Aaron says, taking his arrested silence for capitulation. “Now, if there’s nothing else, then can we get started? We got nothing done last night.” 

He shoves his still-full but now cold cup of coffee into Robert’s free hand before stumping past him.

*****

It takes a couple of hours before Aaron’s worked himself out of this tight, dark temper. Robert tries to hurry the process along, but Aaron seems to take his most neutral comments like being poked with a stick – responding with grunts and retreating even further inside himself.

Finally, annoyed, Robert gives up and a taut silence stretches its way between them as they work. On the bright side, they’re right back to where they should be, in terms of the Allegro. 

(Robert is fucking ecstatic).

It isn’t until they’re clearing up that he takes a last stab at fixing this thing. If it works, it works, and if it doesn’t…well then, he’ll just have to try again tomorrow. 

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he says. Aaron glances at him. 

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Whatever it is I’ve done to piss you off this time.” He’s just throwing it out there, and his voice sounds more exasperated than anything else, but it seems to work anyway. Aaron’s shoulders slump and he looks off to the side.

“Yeah well, you can save the apology,” he says. “It’s nothing to do with you. Not really.”

“You know, that might be a bit easier to swallow if you hadn’t spent the past two hours ignoring my existence.”

A shrug. “Sorry – it must’ve been really hard for you…nothing but your ego for company.”

The smart comment leaves a crack right across the thinning ice of their conversation…and Robert fires up his blowtorch.

“It’s all right,” he says, letting his eyes slide over Aaron, brazen.

Even though his face remains deliberately blank, Aaron’s body responds – incrementally more open, aware. “Oh yeah? And why’s that then?”

“Because you’re gonna make it up to me,” Robert says, hands reaching out to take hold of the front of his hoodie and pull him closer. “Aren’t you?”

*****

Thursday morning, he’s just descending the stairs in pajamas and dressing gown as Adam’s on his way out.

“Nice for some,” he says. Adam is more suited to primary-coloured, uncomplicated emotions – happiness, sadness, anger. Anything more faceted, like derision, looks out of place on his face.

“I’ve been forced out of my position as company director at a firm I helped build,” Robert points out. “I think I’m allowed some time to regroup.”

“Some time to watch _Judge Judy_ , you mean. Don’t take much to keep a bigshot like you happy, does it?” Adam says, before he swings out the door. 

This is not why Robert finds himself skulking around Home Farm slightly earlier than usual. 

It’s never any different, and he doesn’t do anything other than stop for a few minutes and stare, but it’s a sort of routine by now. The last owners Robert can remember were the Kings. Jimmy still lives in the village, in downsized quarters, but the rest are ages gone. Tom King. Matthew. Carl. 

Max King.

The wind curls around his ears and makes them ache, slips an icy finger down his neck – and there’s nothing comforting about any of it, but there’s something compelling about the place…the hugeness of it, the scope. The emptiness of it.

Back in the village, he pops into the shop and buys a paper, though when he sets it down on the counter, he does stop to ask, “How much? I don’t want to have to pawn my watch to keep up with current events.”

“This is a small village shop,” David tells him, apron-covered chest puffed out in ruffled dignity. “You’ve got to expect mark-ups. That’ll be two pounds fifty, and if you don’t like it, then might I suggest that you lump it?”

Robert gives him a tenner, and David picks notes and coins out of the till. He’s on the verge of handing over the change when something flickers over his face, and his fingers close up tight, preventing Robert from actually taking the money.

“One of those sudden mark-ups?” he asks, palm still outstretched.

“I don’t think I’ll be taking one in that case,” Pearl Ladderbanks, waiting behind him, says. She’s carefully made-up and lipsticked, and a newspaper rests on top of the small basket of groceries propped in the crook of her arm. “I let it go when the price of hummus increased, but ten pounds a paper is a bit steep. There’s such a thing as pricing yourself out of the market, you know.”

“No, no – it’s not that,” David says, quickly pressing the change into Robert’s hand. He busies himself sweeping his fingers over the counter. “I was just…wondering if you were doing anything special later.”

Robert stares. “Why? Is that an offer?”

David makes a screwed up, offended face. “It’s a question! I was only askin’! Common courtesy, small talk – that’s the kind of personal attention you get in an establishment like this.”

“And how much is that – a pound per pleasantry or…?”

“Oh _David_ ,” the old woman tuts, with a disappointed shake of her head. 

“What? No! No, I’m not charging for conversation, Pearl – I just…” arrested, he turns back to Robert. “You never gave me an answer.”

“What?”

“Are you doing anything special today? Going anywhere in particular, meeting anyone…” he clears his throat, “…in particular?”

“No,” Robert says, even though it flickers across his mind – Aaron, the garage. “Nothing special. No-one special.” He spreads his hands wide. “Now can I go, or do I have to sign a written statement first?”

“No, that – that’ll be all,” David says. And as Robert grabs his paper off the counter he conscientiously calls after him, “Have a nice day.”

*****

“The thing is, he’s still not over his ex,” Carly says, later, in the café.

She had just parked herself in one of the brown comfy chairs on the other side of Robert’s table midway through his sandwich. Now, the paper lies on the table, coffee-ringed and half-read.

“Which makes it awkward. More awkward.” She looks across at Robert’s plate. “Are you gonna finish that?”

“No, I’m planning on doing a magic trick with it,” Robert says, picking up the remaining half of his BLT and taking a bite. 

Carly goes back to her original problem. “See, he’s there, eyeing me up everytime I bend over – which, that’s allowed, perk of the job when you work with someone halfway fit – but then he gets all broody about it, because part of him still feels like it’s a betrayal or something.” 

She stops for a second, before admitting, “It _has_ got its advantages, mind. Wangled a half-day off today after I’d restocked the bottom shelves. ‘ _The thing is, I’m supposed to be meeting this friend for lunch…oh – and pass us that last bag of flour, would you_?’”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” Robert tells her.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Except, sleeping with David is _such_ a bad idea that I’m almost guaranteed to do it.” At Robert’s look she defends, “Not like I’m _planning_ to…just going by past experience.”

A beat.

“Plus,” she adds, “he’s got a really nice bum.”

*****

After that interlude, it’s a matter of counting down the slowly waning time until he can appear at the garage…except that, just as he’s at the ten minute mark, Adam Barton pops in to finally do what he hadn’t managed that morning – and completely ruin his day.

He leans against the sitting room doorjamb and says without preamble, “Listen, I know you and Aaron’ve got your little car club or whatever, but that’s cancelled this evening.”

He twists on the sofa, “What? Why?” It’s like having the off-switch flicked without warning.

“Because Aaron’s running late with a last-minute collection, and after that he’s meeting me at the pub.” 

“First I’ve heard of this.”

“He was gonna text you, but I said I’d let you know,” Adam says. “Seeing as you’re living in my house, and I can’t turn around these days without tripping over you.” He runs a hand over his face. “Believe me, after the day we’ve had, we deserve a few drinks.”

It’s almost instantaneous – sharp disappointment at having the best chunk of his day summarily removed…followed by the split-second decision –

_No._

_Not going to happen_. 

“Well, you’ll just have to tell me about it, won’t you? While I’m buying you both a drink,” Robert says.

*****

Up at the counter, Aaron does a slight double take at the sight of Robert, eyes flicking over to Adam – who simply shrugs and orders three pints.

“I’ve already got one,” Aaron tells him.

“He’s buying,” Adam says with a jerk of his thumb in Robert’s direction.

Aaron takes this in. “Nice one. Cheers.”

“Can we get some crisps as well, Diane?” Adam asks, then groans as his mobile starts to ring. He slips it out of his pocket and stares at the display, holding it out to Aaron. “Can you believe this?”

“Again?” Aaron asks.

“Fifth time today.”

Robert cuts across the irritating shorthand, as he pays Diane for the drinks. “Have you tried answering it? That usually helps.” 

Adam glares at him as his phone subsides into silence. “Oh very funny. It’s this bloke – got a sheet-metal business out by” –

“Shipley, yeah,” Robert finishes, with a quick glance at Aaron to confirm. “Barlow or something, wasn’t it?”

“…yeah. That’s it.” Adam sounds like he’s dropped the thread of whatever he’d been saying. “Um…anyway, he won’t let up – been calling nonstop. He’s not even decided whether he’s gonna use us or not.”

“And ignoring his calls is going to help with that?” Robert says.

“Mate – y’don’t know what this guy is like.” Adam pokes Aaron in the side, and even though it nearly makes him spill his pint, he dutifully agrees, “He has been a bit much.”

Robert barely holds back an eye-roll. 

“ _Thank_ you,” Adam says. Then, “And if that’s how he is all the time, then we don’t even want his business, do we? He’s been doing me head in all day.”

“ _That’s_ the kind of attitude that’ll build your customer base,” Robert mutters, and takes a drink. As he wipes his top lip, Aaron’s eyes meet his, and then skitter away. Bolstered, he pushes it, telling Adam, “If I were you, I’d ring him back right now and I wouldn’t hang up until I’d talked him into something concrete.” 

“Yeah, I’ll _bet_ you would” – Adam begins, but Aaron interrupts to say, “Can we not just have a drink and forget about it?”

Vic, entering that second from behind the bar, overhears and says, “Ugh – yes, please. That sounds amazing right about now.” She leans over the counter and pecks Adam, and Robert draws back in order to spare himself the close-up. 

“Well, you’re in luck, babe,” Adam says. “Because your brother is buying.”

“In that case, make mine a double.”

“What’s wrong?” Robert asks.

Vic taps his hand with a finger. “Order us a glass of white, and bring it over,” she jerks her head in the direction of a free table off to the side, “And I will give you all the gory details.”

Actually, the details aren’t so much gory as boring. And incredibly vague. Vic exhales, cheeks rounding with the force of her breath, before launching into a long and fuzzy story that ends with, “– I get it, I do…but, at a certain point, _this person’s_ just gonna have to step back and let things play out. _This person’s_ got to accept that you can’t control what other people feel – and if those other people want something to happen, then it’s probably gonna happen. I mean, assuming the other people are adults – which they are – there’s pretty much nothing _this person_ can do to stop them.” 

She twirls the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. Chas has entered the bar, face like thunder, and Robert idly considers going up, ordering another drink, and working the conversation round to the spectacular backfire that had been her dinner invitation. But before he can do more than think about it, he catches sight of Aaron, moving in the direction of the toilets. 

“All _anyone_ can do, really, is…cross their fingers, and hope that it all works out. What d’you think?”

Her eyes fix on Robert, expectant. He blinks back at her and hazards, “Is this about Marlon again?”

Vic downs the remainder of her wine before putting the glass back on the table with a decisive clink. “Why not? Yes, Robert – I am talking about Marlon.” She holds up her empty glass. “Now please can I have a refill?”

“Yeah, all right – in a second,” he says, getting to his feet, and turning toward the toilets. 

He pushes through the double doors, pausing for a moment before he enters the gents. It’s not hesitation – it’s anticipation. As he enters, he gives a quick glance around to make sure they’re alone. Perfect – well, relatively speaking.

Aaron turns and sees him – and that’s got a tinge of familiarity to it, bringing him back weeks ago, to when Aaron hadn’t been anything but a frustrating mystery, a glowering Rubik’s cube rendered in greyscale that Robert just _itched_ to take apart (he’s never had the patience to actually solve one).

“Look,” Aaron says, low-voiced, “If you’ve come to have a go – don’t bother. I was gonna text you about this evening, but Adam was there and I didn’t want him to get” –

Robert does now what he wanted to do all the way back then, taking two quick steps forward and kissing him.

Aaron immediately yanks himself backwards, hissing, “What are you doing? Anyone could walk in.”

Robert shuts him up by kissing him again, smashing their mouths together and grabbing at Aaron’s head, his shoulders, his waist, shoving his own body as close as he possibly can. Aaron makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s more vibration than anything else…Robert feels it like a shock against his own lips, sending arousal spiralling through him –

And then Aaron’s kissing him back. 

It’s still a conflict…but now it’s one in which Aaron’s giving as good as he’s getting, with tongue and teeth and grasping, gripping hands. At which point Robert gets his palms on Aaron’s chest – though it takes him a few more moments to work up the willpower to wedge them apart. 

Aaron, he’s pleased to note, is panting. His eyes are dark. “What” –

Robert has to take a deep breath himself, and then another, so that he can say, somewhat smoothly, “Just wanted to remind you what you’re missing out on.”

He takes a step back, another, and then turns and walks out of the men’s toilets. 

Outside, he drops into his seat across from Vic (already armed with a replacement glass of white wine) and watches Aaron slip back across the bar, head down. 

He’s – good-looking, Aaron is. Attractive. 

Nothing to make anyone else stop in their tracks as he walks past, though. 

And that’s like…getting this amazing present that’s been wrapped in the most ordinary brown paper. Because what everyone around sees when they look at Aaron is…just some bloke. Fit, but not conspicuously so, close-mouthed, dressed down, not particularly tall or short. Dark-haired and bearded…like a million other blokes – and blue-eyed…like a million more.

But no-one here knows that that surface layer of shoulder-shrugging indifference conceals a core of white-hot intensity. No-one here knows how Aaron’s gaze can go soft and unfocused, opening up his whole face. Or the way his beard feels – a maddening, delicious scrape – against someone’s inner thighs.

Well…almost no-one. 

Like a great offer, an unspoiled holiday destination…a secret ( _his_ secret), Robert watches as Aaron shakes his head in amused response to a comment by Adam – and he holds his private knowledge close and keeps it to himself. No-one else _gets_ to have this. Not even Adam.

He becomes aware of a silence across the table. “Hm?” Robert asks, eyes snapping back to Vic. “Are we still on Marlon?”

She looks down at her wineglass, turning it in careful little circles before announcing, out of the blue, “You know, Rakesh is doing up Mill Cottage. Renovating it into luxury apartments.” She wrinkles her nose. “They won’t be on the market for a while, but…sounds like it could be a good investment. If you were interested.”

Robert raises his eyebrows. “Is that your way of telling me you want me to move out?”

“Yeah, you _could_ look at it like that.” There’s a kind of paused, hopeful expression on her face as she says, “…or maybe it’s my way of saying I wouldn’t mind it if you stuck around. Permanently.”

It’s both sweet and direct – and he tries to tamp down the feeling fizzing up in his chest like an overshaken coke can as he cautions her, “Vic, that’s nice, but it’s not exactly realistic – I’ve not got a job or anything.”

“Hasn’t stopped you the last few months,” she points out. “Besides, I’m sure you could find something, if you put your mind to it.”

“Oh yeah, because I’m so suited to milking cows and mucking out stalls.”

“So then you find something you _are_ suited for, in Hotten or Leeds – and you commute. Problem solved,” Vic says. 

He shakes his head, even as he starts to feel a slight, shaky anticipation. “Vic, it’s not” –

“Seriously Robert, just – just leave all the job stuff out of it for a second – and tell me this,” She props her elbows on the table, leaning close. “…would it really be so bad if you stayed here?”

He tries to consider it, but over her shoulder Adam whoops in response to something Diane says, while Aaron looks at the counter, hiding his smile. Distracted, Robert drains his pint and tells Vic, “You know what? Ask me again when those apartments go up for sale. Assuming I’m still here by then.” 

She looks at him. “All right. Deal.”

*****

He’s got Aaron pressed up against the side of the Allegro, lazily grinding against his hip. Aaron’d mumbled something about locking up, going home – but that had been at least twenty minutes ago.

“Think we were a bit premature putting everything back,” Robert says, fingers slipping under Aaron’s top to trail against his stomach. 

Post-stripdown, every random piece of shit that makes the Allegro (allegedly) run has been piled into the back of the car. Getting horizontal this evening had been a labour intensive process – as had getting vertical afterwards. Robert doesn’t think the post-coital tidy-up session is a craze that’s going to be sweeping the nation anytime soon.

“Well, I’m not pulling it all out again,” Aaron says. In spite of their (all right, not _thorough_ so much as _hurried_ ) clear out, he’d still ended up with a spark plug digging into his back.

“Come on, it’s not like I’m the only one suffering here.” Robert lets his hand slide lower. Aaron’s cock is willing to be coaxed onto _his_ side, nudging nicely against Robert’s palm, like it wants rid of the cotton-polyester blend covering it just as badly as Robert does. 

He smirks, but Aaron looks back at him, and does that thing that’s like a shrug, only with his face. “Suppose you’re just going to have to get creative, then, aren’t you?”

The garage is devoid of the most basic comforts (the kettle is the closest thing it has to a focal point. The _kettle_ ), and it’s always fucking freezing. But all of that seems to fade into white noise once he’s got the possibility of Aaron’s body under his hands. This thing between them…it almost can’t be classed as sexual chemistry. Really, it’s closer to sexual alchemy. 

Afterwards, sitting back against the unforgiving bonnet of the Allegro, Robert broaches the subject again. “We need to find somewhere else to store everything. Having to spend ten minutes emptying the car isn’t exactly my idea of foreplay.”

“Good luck with that,” Aaron tells him. “Cain’s not happy about the amount of space the car takes up as it is.”

He leans back on his hands, to better appreciate the sight of Aaron shrugging himself back into his clothes. Idly, he says, “Could always talk him into something more suitable. At this family dinner thing.”

Aaron pauses in the middle of zipping up his hoodie. “Are you still banging on about that?”

“I just think it’s worth considering. We could get your mum on side, or at least keep her off balance – _and_ get Cain to reconsider our storage options. I don’t know about you, but I can put up with a bit of awkward small talk for that.”

Aaron stoops down and grabs Robert’s top off the floor, tossing it at his chest. “Why are we even talking about this?”

“You should have more faith in me,” Robert persists. “I know how to play this game. You have no idea the amount of hoops I had to jump through for my father in law” –

“And how’s that worked out for you?”

“– I can be charming, is all I’m saying. And come on, knowing your family, how hard could it be to win them round? Crush a few beer cans with my bare hands – I should be golden.”

Aaron eyes him flatly. “And this is an example of you being charming, is it?”

“I can be charming,” Robert repeats. “You’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, but you’d have to keep your clothes on for this,” Aaron says, watching Robert pull his jumper over his head. 

“I’m flattered. I think.” Robert grins and pushes himself off the bonnet of the car. “And disturbed. What usually happens at these family get togethers of yours?”

Aaron makes a face. “D’you really want to do this? Just – leave it, Robert.”

And, all right, he’s got a point. When the sweetness of the windup comes with the sour aftertaste of imagining people like human ladder Marlon Dingle…dangling…well, then the joke has officially gone too far. Besides, for the last couple of minutes he’s been feeling tiny nicks from the barely perceptible edge in Aaron’s voice. 

Robert moves to stand in front of him. “All right,” he says, placing his hands on Aaron’s hips. “Let’s talk about something else. What time d’you want to meet up tomorrow?”

Aaron stiffens in his arms again – but this time, it’s in a markedly unpleasant way. “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he says.

“I know, but thanks for keeping me informed.” Robert moves in to drop a kiss on Aaron’s mouth, but Aaron turns his head to the side.

“I meant – we don’t usually meet up on Saturdays.”

Robert’s expression catches midway between smile and frown. “Well, yeah, but – that was before we sorted _this_ out.” He kisses the corner of Aaron’s mouth. “And, now that we _have_ …you can stop wasting your time with also rans.”

Robert insinuates his thigh between Aaron’s, lets his fingers slip under clothes to draw designs against bare skin, circling the pads around Aaron’s navel. A whisper of a touch, not nearly enough. He watches Aaron lean into it. Point made, and Robert can feel the smile win out on his face as he draws back. “So…tomorrow?”

Aaron swallows, and his chin comes up. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

*****

Vic and Adam head out to the cinema on Saturday evening, and then tumble back in the door in a chilly, giggling heap a couple of hours later.

“Oh my god, it is _freezing_ out,” Vic pants. Then, as her breathing calms, “Have you moved at all since we left?”

Robert hunches over in his chair. “Oh yeah. I went on a guided tour of the house about an hour ago. Took me ages to get back from the east wing.” 

“Right. Well, I can see someone’s still an unhappy camper.” She sighs and picks up one of his empty cans. “You could move your little pity party into the sitting room, at least. It just looks pathetic, getting hammered at the kitchen table.”

“I’m having a few drinks, not getting hammered – but thanks for the running commentary.” Robert takes another swig. “It really adds to the experience.”

Vic crosses her arms. “Just a note…when you, me and Andy go for that family night out – which is totally happening, by the way – pissy, grumpy Rob is not welcome. So you’d better get rid before we book anything.” 

Robert raises his can. “Duly noted.”

“Vic,” Adam snakes his arms around her from behind, obviously tired of being ignored. He turns his face into her ear, but makes no effort to lower his voice as he says, “You promised me an early night, remember?”

“Did I?” Vic twists around, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Suppose you have been looking a bit under the weather.”

“Funny – the weather’s not really what I’m looking to get under,” Adam tells her.

“D’you two mind?” Robert says, making a face. 

“Er – in our own house? Yeah, I’d say we _do_ mind, actually.”

Vic rolls her eyes and asks Adam, “Have I told you lately how much of a turn on I find petty bickering?” Then, “No? Probably a reason for that. So you’d better get upstairs, before I change me mind.”

With stomach-turning speed, Adam does just that. Vic lingers long enough to advise Robert, “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but…cheer up? Whatever’s eating you – well, it’s probably not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

He feels her fingers touch his hair, and he immediately jerks his head away. She raises her hands in the air, and huffs, “Fine, maybe it’s _exactly_ as bad as you think it is – that make you feel any better?”

Aaron fucking some also-ran. 

Aaron being fucked _by_ some also-ran. 

Oh yeah. Much better. Robert finishes the remainder of his can and cracks open another. He’s had the same corrosive thoughts eating their way through his stomach lining all day.

“And just so you know, I’m not clearing any of this up tomorrow,” Vic calls back as she leaves the room and thumps upstairs.

With that, he’s left to steep in bitter silence. Vic’s right. It would be more comfortable in the sitting room – the kitchen chair is killing his arse and lower back. Except he doesn’t _want_ comfortable, he doesn’t _want_ to be soothed back into complacency, and the hard wood of the chair and the dull pain in his back fit his mood. 

He just doesn’t _get it_. What he and Aaron have is so good Aaron shouldn’t _need_ anyone else – let alone some sweaty-palmed, braindead wazzock whose only accomplishment is choosing the same bar as Aaron to drink in. Robert had had to practically turn himself inside out just for a shot – and now Aaron’s just handing it out to the first random who offers to buy him a pint?

Not that Aaron had said that. Not that Aaron had bothered to say much of _anything_. Not even when Robert had responded to his, “I’ll see you Sunday,” with a, “Yeah. If I can’t find anything better to do.”

The only evidence that Robert had scored a hit had been the way Aaron had pressed his lips together. But he hadn’t responded, hadn’t called off whatever stupid Saturday night plans he’d had in favour of mindblowing sex with Robert…hadn’t texted. Robert’s mobile remains mute in his pocket.

He starts on another beer. 

And then Andy comes home. Regards the clutter of cans strewn across the table and finally says, “You could’ve just come to the pub with me, y’know.”

Oh right. The pub. Chas swinging around shitty clichés about Aaron _living while he’s young_ and _needing to let his hair down and fuck people who definitely aren’t Robert Sugden_ with enough strength to cause blunt force trauma. Paddy Kirk no doubt nodding in gummy, gormless agreement. 

“I didn’t feel like it.” 

“I’ve had a few nights like that,” Andy says. He puts his hand on the back of the kitchen chair closest to Robert. “Mind if I join you?”

And this little show of brotherly solidarity would be really nice- at literally any other time. “I’m really not in the mood for a chat.”

But Andy’s not so easily put off. “Good. Less likely either of us’ll say anything we regret then.”

Robert snorts, and sensing his acceptance, Andy sits and takes a beer for himself. They drink in silence, slow pulls of beer that swirl and eddy unpleasantly in Robert’s stomach. 

Finally, Andy tips back his head, finishing his can and placing it back on the table. “Y’really weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t feel like talking,” he notes.

“If you wanted entertainment you should’ve picked someone else to drink with.” Like Aaron had. Robert presses his fingers into the rounded sides of his can, feeling the thin metal buckle and dent.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Andy says, and hesitates. “But – whenever you do feel like talking…maybe you could let me know? Because I reckon I owe you an apology.”

Robert looks at him. “Oh?” He slides down on his seat and stretches out his legs under the table, tapping Andy’s foot with his. “Well, come on then. This I have to hear.”

“Should’ve known that’d get a reaction.” There’s no(t much) censure in Andy’s voice, and it vanishes entirely when he says, “I’m sorry. For the way I’ve been acting with you lately. I know you were only trying to help.”

Robert nods slowly in acknowledgment. Andy’s shoulders loosen a bit. “I shouldn’t have got so angry. I just” – he stares down at his hands, swallows. “When Katie died…we weren’t on good terms. We were fighting a lot, stupid stuff. It seems so stupid now. I hate – I hate thinking about it.”

He raises his head. It’s like a child finally coming clean. “But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

“It’s all right.”

“The funny thing is – you’re not even the one I’m angry with. Not really.”

“Who _are_ you angry with, then?” Robert asks, quiet – careful.

“I don’t know,” Andy says and shrugs, even though it’s obvious from his tone that he does. Robert waits. “Myself…for wasting the last days of her life…”

He takes a heavy breath. “– and Katie.”

The beer turns over in a sloshing wave in Robert’s stomach. _Fuck_ , but Andy could have chosen a better time to share this revelation…a time when Robert was feeling sharper, less distracted by personal setbacks and able to focus. Of course, that’s probably exactly _why_ Andy’s done this. He’s just as good at hitting Robert’s weak spots, as Robert is at finding his.

He’s so good at it, he doesn’t even have to do it deliberately.

“Why are you angry with her?” Robert asks, finally.

“Because – she left me. Again,” Andy says. The words lie there like stones. “And it’s even worse this time. Because there’s no coming back from _this_ , is there?”

Andy looks at him, like he expects Robert to say – something. Maybe argue that there is a way back to happiness for Andy…or agree with him that there’s not. 

Robert says nothing.

“It was my fault. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But – it was hers too,” Andy says. “And I’m never gonna get the chance to talk it out with her. Make it right. And I just. I can’t stand that.” He stops himself, just as his voice is thickening, and scrapes his chair back. “Anyway.”

“No,” Robert says, watching him get to his feet. “You can’t just – leave it like this.”

“I have to.” There are lines dug into Andy’s forehead. “Because I can’t keep throwing all this at you. I’ll only get worked up and – end up rowing with you again.”

“So? I think we’ve proved that I can take it.”

Andy smiles down at him. “I know. And you’ve been brilliant. I mean that. But – I’m tired, Rob. I’m really tired. And no offence, but…talking to you – it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“No,” Robert says, feeling his way along Andy’s words – like a rope. “It doesn’t. Because…I’m not the one you should be talking to.” 

_I’m never gonna get the chance to talk it out with her_. 

A lifeline, or a noose. “Katie. It’s Katie you need to say all this to.”

Andy frowns at him.

Robert pushes back his chair, gets to his feet. Decision made. “Well, come on. What are we waiting for?”

A muscle in Andy’s jaw works. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“You know, if you could stop looking to be offended every five minutes, this’d be a whole lot easier,” Robert tells him. “Just let me get my coat.”

*****

The whole village is quiet, cottages huddled together in the dark, their windows like closed eyelids. The icy air sears Robert’s lungs, spins in his head, the ground shifting under his feet a little as he moves.

“Rob? Robert!” Andy hisses, low-voiced, striding behind him. “Come on – this is daft.”

“You can go back, if you think so. No-one’s forcing you.” 

The gate to the graveyard yowls in sleepy complaint as Robert unlatches it, and goes inside. Andy follows, and the torch on Robert’s phone makes a little bobbing light amongst the headstones as they pick their way over to Katie’s wooden cross – where they stop.

Andy’s breath shivers out white. “It’ll be time to put up a headstone soon,” he says. “A proper one.” 

He turns to Robert. “I don’t know what you’ve brought me here for. What can I even say?”

“I don’t know – whatever you want. It’s nothing to _me_ ,” Robert says. “Scream, shout, cry – it’s up to you. You said you needed to talk it out with her – well, now’s your chance.”

“Talk it out with her?” His voice shakes, and when he swallows it sounds painful. “How can I – _she’s dead_.”

“I know,” Robert tells him. “But this is the best you’re ever gonna get.”

Andy stares at him for a long moment, before turning back to Katie’s grave. 

He drops to his knees slowly, like an old man, but once he’s down, the way he holds himself, sitting back on his heels and hands in his lap…Robert half expects to see an untucked school shirt, a loosely knotted tie. 

Andy clears his throat. “Hiya,” he says, and swallows again. “It’s me.” He looks at the cross. Shakes his head. “This is stupid.”

Robert opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Andy continues, “Whatever I say, you’re not – you’re not gonna put your arms around me, are you – and tell me that…everything’s gonna be okay. So what’s the point of saying anything? Or doing anything? What’s the use in me even _being_ here, if _you’re_ not?” 

There’s a silence. 

“I _hate_ this, you know. It was bad enough the first time you left, but now – there’s no hope. We can’t even be friends. Can’t even see you round the village and know you’re all right.” His voice rises. “And all I can think is – how could you _do_ something like that? How could you give me everything I’ve ever wanted and then just – take it all away?”

He looks down, breathes in and out in wavering clouds. “I know that’s not fair. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. But…it’s me that has to _live_ with it. It’s me that has to get out of bed every morning and – and keep going. Without you. When I never even got the chance to say sorry. To tell you – how much I love you.”

Robert lets his hand drop onto Andy’s shoulder. Light. Just there.

“You knew, didn’t you? You _had_ to know. Everything else – the rows, us falling out...they didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have _let_ them matter. Not for long. Move out permanently – yeah, right. Not like I ever did a good job of staying away from you before.”

Another small silence, as Andy swipes a hand against his face. “I don’t know what my life’s gonna look like now. Without you in it. Part of me thinks, maybe there’s nothing left” –

“Andy” – Robert starts, but without missing a beat Andy says, “Shut it. You wanted me to talk – well, I’m talking.” He doesn’t turn his head or lift his attention from the wooden cross in front of him. “But that’s not true, or I’d have done it, wouldn’t I? I’d’ve stepped over that edge” –

Beneath his freezing fingers, Robert feels the slope of Andy’s shoulder, muffled by his coat, but indisputable. He takes another knife-sharp breath, but he doesn’t say anything. Andy’s _here_. 

“– but I didn’t. So maybe I should say, I don’t _want_ to know what my life’s gonna look like without you. Suppose I’ll have to find out, though. Never did let me take the easy way out, did you? I’m mad at you for that and all.” His voice catches in a sort-of laugh. “But it’s all right. I’ll forgive you for that too.”

Very quietly, he says, “I love you. You know that.” 

A few more breaths and he twists around to look up at Robert. “All right. Your turn.”

“What? Andy, I’m not” –

“You’re here too. Don’t tell me you’ve got nothing to say to her.”

Robert stares at the wooden marker. Katie’s long ago. Katie’s dead – and all he can feel in this graveyard is absence. But Andy’s eyes are on him, waiting for him to say – something.

He thinks back to Katie driving out of his life forever, his cards all played – house in the new development, mortgage sorted…none of it enough. He can’t conjure up the devastation of it again, it’s a threadbare echo, at best. That was then, and this is now – and there’s no way back. And even if there was, he wouldn’t take it. 

“I’m sorry,” he settles for saying. “I wish – things had turned out differently.”

It might not be enough – but it’s true, at least.

“Yeah, well, tough. Because they didn’t.” Andy gets to his feet. “So, what’re you gonna do?” It comes out matter of fact, like it’s just something to be faced. Robert can hear Katie in his words, the steel spine under the soft, pretty shell.

“What _are_ you going to do?” Robert asks, flipping it around.

“Don’t know. Get on with things, I suppose. Not like I’ve got much choice.” He glances at the little wooden cross. Asks, unbearably soft, “And whose fault’s that, eh?”

He looks at Robert. Touches his arm. “Come on. Best get back.”

As they walk past Jack’s grave, Andy says, “Night, Dad,” as if they were kids again, heading to bed. Robert doesn’t say anything, but the tips of his fingers brush against the cold stone as he passes.

*****

The walk home is quiet. Andy next to him, in step. Robert feels – awake. Aware. He curls his chilled fingertips in to this palms, then stretches them, as far as he can, like they’re straining for something just out of reach.

It’s good. It’s good, but…

When they’re back inside Keeper’s Cottage again, Andy turns to him and says, “Thanks for tonight. I mean it. It was…” he trails off. “Well, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Andy smiles a bit, looks down. But all he says is, “Think I’ll head upstairs. Try and get some sleep.”

“Yeah. You should. I’ll lock up,” Robert tells him. 

He listens until the sound of Andy’s feet fades away. Then he grabs his keys again, and walks out the door.

This time, it’s just him, crossing the dark, deserted Main Street. It feels like he’s the only person really alive in the whole world. His heart pumps in his chest and his breath steams out into the air – like proof, as he makes his way around the back of The Woolpack.

He gets his phone out of his pocket, and texts with cold-clumsy fingers. 

And waits. 

And of course, there’s no guarantee that Aaron’s awake. Even if he is, he could ignore Robert’s text, or sleep through it.

He might not even be home.

Except he is. And he’s going to open that door. 

Robert just knows it, as if he’s personally seen a couple of minutes into the future, when there’s a fumbling at the lock – and then the door’s finally open, and Aaron’s standing there, squinting at him surrounded by a warm rectangle of light. 

It’s impossible that anything else could have happened.

“What?” Aaron asks, rough-voiced. He’s wearing a ratty short-sleeved t-shirt with a rip in the shoulder seam, and boxer shorts. “Robert – what’re you doing here?”

Robert finds himself grinning, lets his eyes slide from the top of Aaron’s head down to his bare knees and feet. It feels, strangely, more intimate than seeing Aaron fully naked. “So this is what you wear to bed. Nice.”

Aaron regards him narrow-eyed and unamused. “Did you just call me down here to criticise, or do you actually have a reason for” –

He can’t stand it anymore, and he moves forward, burying his nose and mouth in Aaron’s neck, luxuriating in the sleep-warmth, the aliveness of him.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re freezing.” But even though Aaron jerks, he doesn’t pull away. He lets Robert get his hands up under his t-shirt too, even though he makes a pained grunt and the muscles in his stomach jump when Robert touches him. His fingertips tingle against Aaron’s skin, his body solid and real in Robert’s hands. 

“Seriously – what” – Aaron begins again.

He kisses Aaron’s neck. “Ask me in,” he says.

Aaron does move back at that – well, he tries to, but Robert keeps his hands on him, thumbs rubbing small circles onto Aaron’s hipbones, even as he says, “Are you mental? What if my mum wakes up?”

“We’ll be quiet. I can be quiet,” he promises, the words muffled in between kisses, delirious with need. “Let’s just go to your room, yeah?”

“And then what?” Aaron gets his hands on Robert’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks and jaw as he pulls Robert off. “ _Robert_ , I can’t, all right?”

In spite of the firm denial, his eyes are fixed on Robert’s, like he wants to, just as much as Robert does.

Robert takes a breath of cold, clear air. “All right,” he says. At least there’s one consolation to this. “Take it that means no-one else is up there either.” He raises his eyebrows and tries for disinterested sympathy. “Bit of a boring end to a night out.”

In all honesty, it does come out a bit too smug. Aaron crosses his arms. “Yeah. You sound really broken up about it.”

Their eyes lock again. 

“Of course, it doesn’t have to. End like that,” Robert says. He licks his lips. “You’re sure we can’t…”

Aaron shakes his head – opens his mouth, no doubt for verbal reinforcement. 

But it’s late and cold, and it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. No also rans. Just him, and Aaron. Want fills him to the brim, spills over the sides.

“All right,” he says. “Your call.”

He steps close and puts a hand on Aaron’s neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Aaron’s mouth is surprised and unmoving for a moment, before his lips part and he kisses back, the touch of his tongue the barest flash of sensation that Robert has to chase, pressing Aaron back against the doorframe. 

It isn’t until Robert slides his other hand into his boxers that Aaron jolts back to himself, wrenching his mouth and body away from Robert’s with a startled breath. “What are you doing? We can’t” –

“Don’t stop me,” Robert says, kissing Aaron’s cheek, his nose, his bottom lip. His hand finds Aaron’s wrist and skates up his forearm, to hold his elbow. 

Aaron just looks at him, chest rising and falling, rising and falling. Nothing’s ever felt as much like _now_ as this very second. 

He repeats it, “Don’t stop me,” holding Aaron’s gaze, and sliding his hand into his boxers again.

He closes his fist around Aaron’s cock, stroking him hard and fast, and rocking against Aaron’s thigh until his breath and Aaron’s are coming in the same rhythm, pluming out whitely and mixing together. Like proof, he half-thinks again, though he doesn’t know of what – except that they’re both alive, together, right now…and then he has to close his eyes, electricity sparking down his spine. A second later and Aaron stiffens, dropping his forehead onto Robert’s shoulder with a muffled groan, and Robert’s hand is slick with his come. 

He wipes it off on Aaron’s boxers, and they stay like that for a few seconds, twisted together, Aaron’s forehead pressing hard against Robert’s collarbone. But finally, Aaron’s hands come up and grip Robert’s sides as he pushes himself back a step, head coming up. 

He regards Robert for a few seconds in bewildered silence. “What was that for?” he says finally.

Robert shrugs. “Just felt like it,” he says. Leans in and kisses Aaron’s soft, confused mouth. “You can pay me back tomorrow.”

“Today,” Aaron says absently. 

“Well, if you insist.” Robert claims another kiss. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Aaron nods. He’s still frowning, biting at his lip – until Robert turns to go, when he feels a momentary impression of fingers against his wrist. Aaron looks at him like he’s weighing something up, deciding.

“Came home early tonight,” he offers, finally.

The smile stretches Robert’s mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Aaron’s eyes are steady on his. “It was just a drink, anyway.”

Robert glances back over his shoulder before he turns by the side of The Woolpack – and catches a glimpse of Aaron still standing in the doorway, watching him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jesus_. It’s like trying to fuck an easily-offended hedgehog. The smallest thing, and the bristles go up. Half the time, Robert doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever hated writing a chapter quite as much as this one! So many McGuffins! So much TALKING to get things set up! Then I wanted to split it up for a while, because it's so long...and then I decided not to, because SOMETHING DEFINITIVE needed to happen wrt Robert/Aaron. 
> 
> Have I mentioned that I haaaaate this one? 
> 
> Also - thanks to momecat for looking over bits of this - and pheobep for listening to me bitch :)

The next morning, and he keeps coming back to it. A moth of a thing, little but relentless, eating holes in him. And so, as early as possible on Sunday (which is not _that_ early) he gathers Vic and Diane in the back rooms of The Woolpack.

“Again, not really seeing why we couldn’t have done this at home,” Vic says, but it’s mostly a grumble for the sake of it. 

“Because this is important, and I needed to talk to both of you. Together.”

She straightens on the sofa, shooting a look at Diane who says, “Is everything all right? You seem a bit – wound up, if you don’t mind my saying.” 

They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, confused maybe, but otherwise insulated from the chill of apprehension that spiders along the back of Robert’s neck. He gets up from the kitchen chair and paces along the narrow strip of floor by the cabinet. He doesn’t want to ask – to make his suspicion unquestionable, real.

But he can’t stand not _knowing_. 

Vic watches him. Offers a careful, “Well, whatever it is you want to tell us, just know that – we’re here for you. One hundred percent. No questions asked. Completely non-judgmental and totally supportive. Isn’t that right, Diane?”

“…I might have a question or two,” Diane hedges. Vic glares at her, then repeats, with emphasis, “We’re here for you, Rob.”

He stops. “Right…good to know, but this is actually about Andy.”

“Oh.” Vic slumps back on the sofa, while Diane asks, “What about Andy? I thought – I mean, from what Vic’s told me, you two seemed to be working things out.” She tacks on a conscientious, “Not that we’ve been talking about you two or anything. All that much.”

“We were – we _are_ …it’s not about that.” He sits again, hands coming to dangle between his knees as he leans forward. “It’s just…last night Andy said something. He said – _Andy_ said…that after Katie died, he didn’t think there was anything worth living for. He was talking about wanting to step over the edge, and the way he…well, let’s just say it didn’t sound like a figure of speech.”

He stops. Takes a breath. “What did he mean?”

“What?” Diane makes a soft little sound, and without even looking, Vic’s hand gropes out, catching hold of her. 

“Are you trying to tell us he’s still thinking about – about doing _that_ …?” Diane’s free hand curls at her chest. “I thought we were past this – I thought _he_ was past this.”

“We are – he _is_ ,” Vic tells her. “Look – there’s no point in over-reacting when we don’t even know what he’s actually…Rob – what did he say _exactly_?”

“It’s true then. He did try to commit suicide.” The knowledge sinks into his bones, makes them heavy.

“ _Robert_.” Her voice is strong, but something in her face is pulled tight. “What did he say?”

He dredges the words up from somewhere. “He said…he still couldn’t imagine a life without Katie, but that there must be something left, or he’d have done it. Killed himself,” he makes himself say, because that was what Andy had tried to do.

Vic closes her eyes for a moment, but says, in an almost normal voice, “You see, Diane? That’s not as bad as it sounded. Actually, it’s probably a good thing that he’s – able to talk about it now.”

“And that’s all he said to you? Nothing else?” Diane asks him, insistent. “Nothing to make you suspect that he might…?”

“Try again?” Robert can’t stop himself from saying, some small part of him almost satisfied by her flinch. “No. That was it. And, for what it’s worth, I think Vic’s right. I don’t think he’s in that headspace anymore.” 

Diane’s fingers unclench, red nails flattening against her breastbone as she lets out a shaky, relieved breath. 

“But – that doesn’t change the fact that he was once.” Robert looks at her, at Vic – eyes sharp. “So? Tell me what happened.”

On the sofa, an entire, wordless conversation is emptied into the space of a few moments, before Vic finally turns back to him.

“It was right after Katie’d died,” she tells him. “After her funeral. Andy left us notes. He went to the quarry…he was gonna drive his car” –

“– over the edge,” he finishes.

Andy, at the quarry. Where they’d thrown stones, as kids. 

His sister tips her head up. “But he didn’t.” To Diane, more firmly. “And he’s not going to.”

_No_. He’s not.

A world without Andy – Robert simply can’t comprehend it. It’s inconceivable. There’s a hollowness inside him at the very thought. 

“You should have told me,” he says.

Diane sighs. “Maybe.” She still looks shaken. “I know it’s not an easy thing to deal with, especially out of the blue like that.”

It’s something like an apology, but not nearly enough of one. 

Not when she follows it up with, “But – and no-one’s saying Andy’s not still grieving, only…he was in a very different place back then. As far as we were concerned, he’d put that behind him. And we weren’t expecting you to just – show up, the way you did. Under the circumstances, we thought it was best to make as little fuss as possible.” 

Robert stares at her. “I’m not talking about when I came back. You should’ve told me when it _happened_.”

There’s a line between Vic’s eyebrows. “What?” she says. 

“I’m his _brother_ – and whatever’s gone on between us in the past, I had a right to know.” 

Andy, at the quarry – an adult this time, completely alone and planning to end it all. And Robert hadn’t had any idea. Had been completely oblivious to the ground shifting right under his feet. 

“You should’ve told me,” he repeats. Angry hurt mixes with righteousness, cementing it into bitterness. An apology – even a proper one, one devoid of Diane-caveats, is not going to entirely dissolve that. 

But he’ll take it anyway, and he waits, eyes burning and expectant. 

Vic looks back at him, and – it’s Vic. His little sister, who doesn’t have the same baggage with him as Andy, or even Diane. Obviously, she’s the one to say –

“No.” Vic shakes her head. “No – you don’t get to _do this_ , Robert.”

“Do what? Andy could’ve _died_ , and no-one even bothered to pick up a phone to tell me.”

She doesn’t even blink. “You don’t get to write us all off, and then decide _we’re_ the ones who handled this wrong.”

Of course, not having _the same_ baggage isn’t quite the same thing as not having _any_ baggage. But coming from Vic – easygoing, peacemaker _Vic_ – that realisation comes like an unexpected dip in the road. It makes him stumble, suddenly back-footed, defensive.

“All right – I get it,” he says, trying to reorient himself. His words gain strength as he goes on, “I’m not denying there’ve been times when I wasn’t there for all of you…but I’m still part of this family.” 

“Yeah – when it suits you.” Vic’s mouth twists. 

Diane’s gaze darts between the two of them. “I really don’t think this is the most helpful conversation we could be having right n” –

“You never even gave me a _chance_.” He can’t not say it, can’t _not_ call it out when the deck’s been so thoroughly stacked against him, setting him up to fail. The words lie there, indisputable, but Vic doesn’t look at him. 

“You know, you’re right, Diane,” she says, voice aiming for steady, but just missing the mark. “This really isn’t helping.” She pushes to her feet, blinking fast. 

“Vic” – Diane calls after her, but she just keeps making straight for the door. Robert starts to rise, but he’s stopped by a touch to his knee.

“Just – give her a few minutes,” Diane tells him. She keeps her hand where it is until the muscles under her fingers signal his agreement, and he slumps back in the chair.

“Right. Go on then.” He folds his arms. “Let’s get it over with.”

“What?”

“After all _that_ ,” he nods toward the door Vic just exited through, “I’m supposed to believe you’ve not got some choice words for me?”

Diane gives him a fleeting half-smile. “Not really sure what to say, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Robert mutters. He looks off to the side.

And sure enough, within five seconds, Diane’s clearing her throat and offering, “Vic’s had a tough couple of months, you know.”

Oh, _of course_ he knows. It’s not like _not knowing_ important things formed the entire thrust of his argument just now. 

“We all have, really,” Diane continues. “It’s like, you get used to things being one way, and then the second you do, the rug’s pulled out from under your feet.”

Robert stares over at the squat kettle, plates and mugs, assorted kitchen tat. He takes it that his return is the pulled-out-rug in this scenario. Nice. 

“I could’ve helped,” he says. “I would’ve tried, at least. Yeah, me and Andy have had our differences – but whatever you might think of me, I’d’ve been there for him.”

It’s such a gut deep certainty that he just says it. It’s so true it doesn’t need a raised voice or an emphatic gesture for embellishment. It just _is_. He can’t imagine getting that call from Vic or Diane, and _not_ dropping everything. Robert won’t deny that for the longest time, Andy’d been a gaping wound in his life – but that just makes him _blood_.

When he looks back at Diane, she’s already studying him, head cocked to the side. 

“Oh, Robert,” she says eventually. She sounds tired, his name coming out as a semi-sigh. “I know.”

A few minutes later, he finds Vic sitting on the staircase. She’s a little red-rimmed, but any actual tears have dried up by the time she raises her eyes to him. 

“Are you done then?” she asks. “Not got any more accusations to throw around?”

“I’m not _accusing_ you of anything.”

“Good. Because me and Diane weren’t exactly sat around twiddling our thumbs and saying, ‘Let’s keep Rob out of this,’ you know.”

“I know that. And I’m not saying you did everything wrong – Andy’s here, and that’s obviously the main thing.” He lowers his voice. “But you still could’ve told me.”

Instead of reciprocating with a similar compromise, Vic picks at the knee of her jeans. “So you’re not saying we did _everything_ wrong. Just some things.” She looks at him, eyes sweeping him from head to feet, before deciding, “You never make _anything_ easy, do you?”

From someone who’s billed herself as ‘ _completely non-judgmental and totally supportive_ ’, it’s not exactly the most uplifting assessment. 

The thing is…he’s still _right_. He’s right, and Vic, of all people, should be able to see that. He needs to _make_ her see that. 

“Vic…” he manages, before he stalls out utterly. It’s funny, but the way things are _now_ only serves to emphasise the distance then – and allows that distance to time-travel all the way into the present to wedge itself between them all over again. 

Except it’s different, now. 

The silence stretches out, and he leans against The Woolpack wall, unable to move either forward, or back. Until finally, his sister makes an exasperated sound. “Oh, for…it’s all right, Robert.” She pulls a face. “I mean, not at this very second, obviously, but…it will be. _We_ will be. So just – give me a bit, yeah?”

He considers it. It’s not ideal. He’s still right. “Okay.”

She stands and dusts her hands down her thighs. “Mind you, if you wanted to say ‘I’m sorry’ at some point, it probably wouldn’t go amiss.”

*****

It isn’t until later that evening that he realises what exactly ‘give me a bit, yeah?’ is going to entail. Actually, it’s not until Vic pops her head into the sitting room and says, “I’m thinking about making a curry for later, if that’s all right?”

From the sofa, Adam waves a hand at her, and says, “All this, and she cooks too, lads,” wilfully oblivious to the fact that the only other ‘lad’ present happens to be Vic’s brother. 

“Thanks for the – I assume – compliment,” Vic says, “But I was actually asking Robert.”

“Yeah, that sounds…fine,” Robert says, already made wary by the interest she seems to have in his answer, eyes fixed on him. 

“Hang on – how come _he_ gets a say, and I don’t?”

“Because my big brother has just got _so many_ opinions. And d’you know what the funny thing is? He’s _always_ right. Even when he’s talking about something he knows nothing about.”

Adam looks at Robert, the corners of his mouth turning up with an insufferable slowness that’s probably only matched by the workings of his mind. “Have you done something?” he asks. “Babe – what’s he done?”

Instead of answering Adam, Vic says, “I was thinking of going vegetarian – y’know, get some of those five-a-day in. How does tomato and chickpea sound? Obviously, it all depends on whether I get your go-ahead, so…thoughts?”

Victoria’s ‘give me a bit, yeah?’ clearly _really_ means ‘give me a bit more time to harp on at you, yeah?’ It’s annoying, but it’s not going to make Robert any less _right_ when it comes to this argument. 

After all, he’s not bent out of shape because he wasn’t kept up-to-date on Andy’s _menu_ all those months ago. 

“– recipe says ‘cook until the lentils are tender’, so I suppose you’ll have to tell me when that is” –

Of course, it _is_ still annoying. 

“Actually, I have to go – meeting up with Aaron,” he says as he gets to his feet.

As he closes the door, he hears a cautious, “Vic… _I’ve_ got some thoughts about that chickpea curry, if you want ‘em…”

*****

Because that’s just the kind of day he’s having, it turns out that Aaron is not alone – though the other bloke in the garage is unfamiliar to Robert. He’s long-faced and tough looking, but otherwise built along the same general lines that seem to make up the Emmerdale standard model (male).

Which is to say, he’s got dark hair, and a beard. 

He’s mid-sentence as Robert opens the door to the garage, “– not like I’m asking for the whole thing” –

Aaron’s apparently not thrilled to see the guy, given his flat, “Good. Cos you’re not gonna get it. So do us a favour and get” –

Though he certainly doesn’t seem as dismissive as he sounds when he turns and catches sight of Robert, shoulders tense and face odd and blank. Immediately, Robert glances back at Other Bloke in careful re-evaluation, because he’s never seen anyone make Aaron react like that. And, given his family, it’s not as if Aaron’s a complete stranger to dodgy-ness, so…this is obviously something else. Something bigger.

But Other Bloke just looks between the two of them in startled amusement. “For real?” With a shake of his head, he says, “I leave for five minutes, and it’s like a bad case of déjà vu in ‘ere.” He pronounces déjà with a hard ‘j’.

Oh great. Someone _else_ who was around for the sepia-tinged psycho-ex portion of Aaron’s past – that’s _just_ what Robert needs. Other Bloke grins at him. “Y’alright?”

This appears to jolt Aaron back on track enough to grit out, “Get _lost_ , Ross.”

“I get it. You’ve obviously got places to be, people to…do,” (apparently) Ross says – and there’s _definitely_ some history there – possibly military, given how quickly he’s got both thumbs jammed into the pressure point of Aaron’s sexuality. Inside, Robert jerks, but he keeps his face clean, deliberately expressionless. The guy is obviously fishing. 

“Well, happy as I am for ya, there’s the little matter of,” Ross pretends to think, index finger scratching his temple, “– oh yeah, _my money_ to be settled up first.”

“Like I’ve said – nothing to do with me.” Aaron moves off as if the conversation is over, though there’s still a watchful kind of stiffness to his body.

Ross whistles, a verbal click of the fingers to regain his attention. “Ey, 50 Shades of Gay, didn’t you hear what I said? I _want_ what’s owing to me.”

“Take it up with Cain. Not that I think it’ll do you any good, considering the way you disappeared. Not to mention _why_.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re Mr Reliable. Funny – I seem to remember you having your share of dirty dealings, not so long ago.” Ross tuts before stage-whispering behind the back of his hand to Robert, “Not that you’re complaining, am I r” –

With a suddenness that makes Robert jump, Aaron’s turned, and got the guy slammed up against the side of a dark blue Toyota Corolla. “Whoa, _Aaron_ ” – Robert gets as far as saying, not entirely sure that _this_ (whatever the fuck this _is_ ) is entirely a good idea.

And then Ross sort of heaves back, managing to send Aaron stumbling. Robert starts forward, more out of instinct than anything else, but Aaron’s already charging again. _Fuck_. He fumbles a hand into the pocket of his jacket, then stops because he’s got no clue who a call to the police would do more damage to. As current events go to prove, Aaron’s not exactly trouble- _averse_.

Before he can decide, the scuffle ends with Ross shoved down onto the bonnet of the Corolla, though Ross himself seems bizarrely relaxed at this turn of events, managing to give off the impression that his hands are moments away from being tucked under his head (when in fact, Aaron’s got his arms pinned). 

“Some things never change, eh?” he says. Continuing his button-pushing campaign, he calls to Robert, “Just can’t keep his hands off me, this one.”

“Save it,” Aaron says, unmoving, “We both know the real reason you’re sniffing about.”

“Oh please, enlighten me, O Wise One.”

“The thing is, Debbie’s gone” – Robert registers the sudden tension in Ross’ body at the name, even as his own eyes snap to the back of Aaron’s head. “– and even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Not anymore.”

He leans down, getting right into Ross’ face as he tells him, “You’re wasting your time, mate.”

“Suppose you’d know all about that,” Ross agrees, refusing to be cowed. 

With a last jab that knocks Ross even harder against the metal of the car, Aaron steps backwards, releasing his grip. There’s a finality to his words, “We’re done here.”

Ross scrambles upright, though he doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, lingering in the garage, hands banding across his chest for a moment, before he drops them by his sides. It comes off uncertain, at odds with the brash confidence of a few seconds ago. 

“She’s all right, then?” he asks.

Aaron shrugs, face like a stone wall. “Wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen her.”

Ross closes his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up in a painful looking smile. “Course not.” When he opens his eyes a second later though, he’s back to his original state of bright hardness. “Cheers, though. Really appreciate all the help.” 

He points a finger straight between Aaron’s eyes, like a gun, giving a sinister undercurrent as he promises, “ _Deffo_ keeping it in mind for future reference. One good turn deserves another.”

His eyes flick over Robert, hand shooting out to clap him on the shoulder, heavy and solid as he leans in to say, “Sorry to keep you waitin’. Mr Grey will uh…see you now.”

And with that, he exits, leaving a dead kind of silence in the garage. 

Robert tries to lighten it. “Should we just get a revolving door put in, or what?”

“Thought you weren’t into that,” Aaron says, but it’s clear autopilot. He’s leaning against the side of the car, palms spread and head down. He doesn’t turn or even straighten. 

Okay. So…that’s not going to work. Robert runs a hand through his hair and tries a different tack. “Mind telling me what just happened?”

Aaron does face him then, doing that so-trustworthy thing where his eyes meet Robert’s, only to skitter away a millisecond later. “Nothing.”

“Oh good. Because that’s exactly what it looked like, all right.”

Another moment of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it eye contact as Aaron continues to downplay what’s just happened. “Ross – he’s a muppet. Likes to wind people up. You shouldn’t take any notice of what he says.”

“Well it’s a bit late for that – since he obviously got _you_ going. Aaron…what he was saying…” – Aaron does look at him properly then, but it just makes Robert frown. “Are you in trouble? D’you owe him money or something?”

“What? No.” He just raises his eyebrows and waits until Aaron relents. “He used to work here, that’s all.”

“So what was _that_ about?” Robert asks, nodding toward the bonnet. “I hate to break it to you – but when it comes to business, ‘the personal touch’ doesn’t mean roughing someone up.”

Aaron shakes his head, a tight motion, but says, “Believe me, he got off lightly.” Then, almost like he’s reassuring himself, “Cain’ll sort him.”

“Because of Debbie?” Robert guesses. Something in his chest kicks up a notch in interest, but he keeps his voice mildly, just-making-conversation curious.

“Yeah.”

“I take it her and Ross were…?”

“Seeing each other? Yeah. For a bit.” Aaron still seems vaguely distracted, and there’s a moment before he adds, like an afterthought, “While Debbie was engaged to his brother. It came out at the wedding.”

“Starting ‘happily ever after’ with a bang, then,” Robert says. At Aaron’s look, he does his best to school his features into attentive sympathy. “I’m guessing Debbie and the brother aren’t holding out to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary.”

“She took up with Ross again, so, no. Cain wasn’t exactly pleased.”

“Well, coming from an upstanding pillar of the community like Cain Dingle, I suppose that makes sense.”

Aaron glares at him. “Yeah, well, Ross in’t the sort of person you wanna trust with – much of anything. And of course he got caught up in something he shouldn’t have and had to leg it.” A sidelong glance before he admits, “Cain might’ve had something to do with that.”

“I’m shocked,” Robert deadpans. 

“Only it backfired in the end. Because Debbie decided she was better off out of it. Took the kids and left.”

Robert absorbs this, and tries to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “And you’re worried this Ross is gonna make trouble, now that he’s back?”

“Nah,” Aaron says, too quickly. “Cain won’t want him around after everything that’s happened.” Again he repeats, and stronger, “He’ll sort this.”

It’s clear from Aaron’s tone that he’s talked himself back into his usual close-mouthed equilibrium – or at least an approximation thereof. Very definitely, Robert doesn’t have the whole story, but he’s also not going to get any further information. Not tonight, anyway. 

And so, he boxes it all into a corner of his mind for later, and returns to the here-and-now.

“Well, good. Because what happened this evening’s got me thinking,” a glance around the three’s-a-crowd garage, “And _Ross_ managed to make one thing very clear to me.”

He takes a step closer, telegraphing his intentions, but Aaron’s eyebrows draw together. “Yeah? And what’s that?” His hands ball by his sides. 

Robert reaches out to cup Aaron’s face, thumbs stroking over his jaw. “We need to start looking for a better place to meet. Preferably one with a _Don’t Disturb_ sign.”

There’s a moment, just a moment, when Aaron is very still under his fingers. But then he’s knocking Robert’s hands away, and grabbing for Robert himself – the tips of his own fingers shoving into Robert’s hair, palms hard against his cheeks, holding him still as Aaron goes straight for his mouth with lips and tongue, and the desperate scrape of teeth. Robert himself snags a fistful of material at Aaron’s chest, holding on to prevent himself being knocked off balance by the sheer force of Aaron’s advance, and kisses back with a groan. 

He’s panting by the time Aaron finally pulls away, eyes dark. 

“You really gonna wait that long though?” he asks, breathless and challenging.

*****

The back of a Toyota Corolla offers almost unparalleled luxury in comparison to the Allegro, and between that and Aaron’s sudden (and very welcome, as far as Robert is concerned) determination to sublimate any and all nebulous misgivings into sex, it’s late and fully dark by the time Robert walks back home.

He quietly lets himself in to Keeper’s Cottage where it’s warm, the cosy, muffled sound of whatever’s on the telly drifting in from the sitting room. He stands in the kitchen doorway for a few moments and watches Andy, filling the kettle at the sink. 

It’s a little thing, an everyday thing…but it stops Robert in his tracks. Until Andy turns from the sink and offers him a small smile. “Oh – heya. Didn’t realise you were back.”

_But he didn’t. And he’s not going to._

It’s Vic’s voice in his head, but Robert thinks it with the same fierceness. More. He clears his throat and says, “Yeah – just got in. Mind if I pull up a cup?”

Andy gestures with the kettle. “Help yourself.”

And, like last night, they sit at the kitchen table. Robert waits for his tea to cool and, as Andy does the same, he asks, “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Andy says, then, “Not sure, really. Different.” His fingers curl loosely around his mug. “The same.” 

Robert pushes down the twinge of disappointment he feels. Andy’s _here_. Happy or sad…none of that matters as much as his continued _presence_. “That’s all right, though – isn’t it? I mean…you can’t expect everything to have changed in just one night.”

“I suppose.”

“You’ll get there,” he assures Andy, voice soft. “One step at a time, yeah?”

Andy gives him a subdued smile. “Yeah.”

“And - whenever you need to talk about it, you just come to me.” Robert lays a hand on Andy’s forearm. “I’m here for you.”

“Yeah – about that...” Andy shifts on his chair, pulling away from Robert, even as he meets his eyes squarely. “Look – I meant what I said last night. I don’t…think I should talk about Katie with you anymore.”

“Andy – I don’t know if that’s” –

Before Robert can get any further, Andy holds up his hand to clarify, “Or at least…she shouldn’t be the _only_ thing we talk about. It’s gonna be hard, but…if I’m serious about moving on, letting go, then I can’t keep reliving part of my life that’s – over. I need to find…other things that matter.”

Robert looks at him. Nods. “All right. If that’s what you need, then – all right. We can do that. From now on, we can talk about whatever you want.”

He takes a mouthful of tea as he waits for Andy to say something.

The silence stretches out, unfilled.

“It…might take a bit,” Andy admits, as he stares down at the table.

“Okay,” Robert tells him. “Well as a matter of fact, I might be able to help you out, this time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He takes another sip from his mug, then leans his elbows on the table, carefully casual, since there’s no telling how Andy’s going to react to his news. “This bloke showed up at the garage this evening, said his name was Ross” –

“Ross?” Andy’s head snaps up. “Don’t tell me _he’s_ back?”

“Yeah. And – he was asking Aaron about Debbie.”

Across from him, Andy is very still…but he also seems wholly _present_ in a way that he hasn’t quite been since Robert’s return. “And what did Aaron say?”

“Nothing much. Showed Ross the door, and then he talked a bit about why Debbie left. That was it.”

“But he didn’t – say anything about where she was now…? Nothing about Sarah or Jack?”

“Sorry – no. He didn’t really go into specifics.”

The hum of energy emanating from Andy dies into nothing. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault.” It’s like someone’s turned off the ignition. 

Immediately Robert wants that purpose back. “I could ask, though,” he says.

Andy stares at him – and there it is again, that spluttering spark. ““You think I haven’t _tried_ that? I might not be up to much…but I _do_ care where my kids are. I always have.”

“Well good, since that was sort of the point I was making. So, what’s the problem?”

“Cain thinks Debbie’s got enough to deal with, without throwing me into the mix. He won’t budge.”

“I’m not planning on asking _him_ , though, am I?”

Andy shakes his head. “Aaron’s not gonna tell you either.”

His negation only serves to make Robert dig his heels in. “You never know – he might. We are mates now.”

“Yeah…but Debbie’s _family_.” 

“Then we’ll find out some other way. Look, Andy – just” – Robert catches his eye, then deliberately holds his gaze, “– just leave it with me, all right?”

Andy looks back at him for a long moment. He nods slowly. 

“…All right,” he decides.

*****

Monday morning, and at the breakfast table, Vic flicks through a magazine and solicits his opinion on various shades of lipstick, whether the flare truly is making its threatened comeback, and whether her aversion to the word ‘staycation’ is valid.

“I mean, let’s face it – around here, it just means locking the door, cuddling up on the couch and doing your best to eat your way through a six pack of crisps and a family sized bar of chocolate.”

“You seemed happy enough last time,” Adam objects. 

“I never said it wasn’t _nice_ ,” Vic says. “Just that it’s not special enough to deserve a ‘cation’ shoved on to the end of it.” Her head swivels to the other end of the table. “But, as ever, my final opinion depends on what _Robert_ thinks.”

He lets his spoon drop into the cereal bowl with an audible clank. “Okay, Vic – you’ve made your point.”

“And what point would that be?” she asks. She gets to her feet, and kisses Adam. “Right – I’m off...but I’m probably going to have some questions throughout the day, so…” she taps Robert on the shoulder as she passes, “– keep your phone on you.”

There’s a bang as the door closes behind her, and Adam looks at him. “Not that I’m not enjoying seeing you squirm, mate, but – if I were you, I’d just say sorry and cut your losses.”

*****

Ross’ return seems to have made an impression on more than Aaron, going by the reaction of… _fuck_ , Robert _knows_ this...Br-something in the café. Even as she forces a free sample of a potential addition to the menu into Robert’s hand (“Emoji cookie? This one looks a bit rude, but it’s only because the icing bag slipped…”) she keeps stealing glances over to the far corner, where Ross is leafing through the _Hotten Courier_.

When Ross finally looks up, he throws a two fingered flick of a salute. Robert can’t decide whether it’s meant for him, or Brr. And when the slight, dark-haired woman sitting with him approaches the counter to order, Brr says, “Well, I’m sure him being back is a comfort to one person, at least.”

The dark-haired woman has a smile that only seems to get more strained the longer it’s on her face. “I’m sorry?” she says.

“I only meant it must be nice to have Ross home. Hail the conquering hero, and all that.” Brr pauses. “Except, of course, that you’d have to take out the ‘hero’ part. And the ‘conquering’, probably, depending on how you define the term. I mean, it’s not exactly a _triumphant_ return, is it?”

“I’d like two coffees and a cheese toastie – and I’ll take them without the commentary, thanks,” the dark-haired woman snaps out, before she turns and marches back to the table.

“ _Well_ ,” Brr says to Robert. “I was only taking a friendly interest. That’s what’s wrong with people these days, you know. It’s all rushing and racing, and no-one will spare so much as five minutes to have a real convers” –

“I’ll take an Americano to go, thanks,” Robert says.

*****

That evening when he sticks his head inside the garage, there’s an absence of anyone besides Aaron. Good. There’s also an absence of dark blue Toyota Corolla.

Okay…less good.

“Oh, finally,” Aaron says, and it’s immediately obvious that the on-edgeness of last night remains. “Was beginning to think you’d bailed.”

“It’s just ten minutes,” Robert says. Vic had insisted on walking him through every step of some non-crisis with Marlon because “you didn’t answer any of my texts – and how am I supposed to know how I feel about changing up the pub lunch menu if _you_ don’t spell it out for me?”

He’s not wasting one more second of his life on the great Shepherd’s Pie vs Lasagna Controversy of 2015, so instead of explaining his (not even really _worthy_ of explanation) absence, Robert says, “I saw your friend Ross today.”

“He’s not my friend.” Aaron’s eyes flick to his, then away. He taps the pad of his finger against the screwdriver in his hand, a soundless staccato beat. “And? What’d he say?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t talking to him or anything – just saw him in the café.”

“Right.” Aaron stares at him. “Then why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. Just…keeping tabs, I guess,” Robert says. “I mean, you seemed fairly upset yesterday when he showed up.” He studies Aaron. “Did you get a chance to talk to Cain about him?”

“Sort of.” And with that so-informative sentence fragment, he turns and walks off toward the Allegro, leaving Robert to chase after him. He’s obviously been here a while, because there are boxes of parts all over the floor, one of the back doors is swinging open, and Robert can see that he’s already removed the panel inside. They’ve been dragging their heels on the next step in the restoration, given that stripping the rear interior means…no more stripping in the rear interior – but clearly it’s full speed ahead now. 

Robert hopes that this is Aaron’s way of telling him that any future garage hook-ups will be happening in a better class of automobile. But he heroically sets that aside for the moment in favour of the larger picture. “And?”

Aaron shrugs. “And – nothing.”

“Nothing?” Robert repeats. “Well, that’s a bit…underwhelming. I mean, I was expecting full on Wrath of Cain…and now you’re telling me that’s not happening?”

“It’s what I’ve just said, isn’t it?” The, “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he adds a second later sounds threadbare. 

“You don’t exactly seem convinced.” Robert regards Aaron closely. “You know, if you’re that worried about it, you should talk to Cain again. Get him to change his mind.”

“Yeah, cause it’s that easy,” he scoffs, then shakes his head. “Anyway, he’s got a lot on right now – he doesn’t need me piling on as well.”

“Even better. Then you find something _you_ can help him with – a bit of leverage, and there you go. Trouble sorted.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Aaron says, though it sounds like appeasement rather than agreement.

“I shouldn’t even think it’d be that difficult…if he really doesn’t want Ross hanging around.” 

_Leave it with me_ , Robert thinks, as he barely nudges the conversation in the direction he needs it to go. “You know, because of Debbie.”

“He says he’ll keep an eye out. And it’s not like Debbie’s here to be bothered, so…it’s fine,” he repeats. 

“Again, you’re not exactly bowling me over with confidence, here.” 

Aaron shrugs, _No Entry_ all but written across his face, and body tight and tense. Robert wants to take the time to unknot him, slow and thorough. He touches Aaron’s arm – not too much, a gentle incentive. “Y’know, if it’s stressing you out, you don’t have to pretend it’s not. Worst case scenario…you can always talk to me.”

It’s funny, the guilty pang he feels after saying it isn’t because it’s a lie, but because he _means_ it. 

He meant what he’d said to Andy too. 

Aaron closes his eyes and shakes his head, but slowly, almost like he can’t help it, he says, “I just…have this feeling he’s gonna open his big gob and mess everything up.”

Robert frowns. “For Debbie?”

“What? What are you talkin’ about?” Aaron frowns back. “Why d’you keep banging on about Debbie?”

He looks at Aaron’s face, scrunched up like a piece of paper – and breathes out. 

“…all right,” he admits. “Full disclosure.”

“What?” Aaron’s eyes narrow, and okay, the immediate wariness is less than flattering.

“Just – hear me out, all right?” he says. Takes the plunge. “I need you to tell me where Debbie and the kids are.”

“You what?” Aaron stares at him. “ _No_.”

“I’m not asking for _me_ – I’m asking for Andy.”

“Yeah, I guessed. Answer’s still no.” Aaron looks him up and down. “Sorry you wasted all that false sympathy.” He gestures with the screwdriver, sharp and angry. “You can clear off now.”

Robert stands his ground. “It wasn’t _false_. Which is why I’m telling you the truth, and – asking for your help.”

“Which I’m not gonna give. Can’t anyway, seeing as I don’t actually know where Debs is either.” He flings the last part out with quietly vicious triumph, like it’s a piece of incontrovertible evidence, an ironclad alibi or something. “So, seems like you’re out of luck.”

Except…

“You could find out, though,” Robert says. It’s soft, but certain. “If you wanted to.” He’s standing still on the concrete floor of the garage, but it feels like he’s balancing somewhere high and perilous. One wrong move – one wrong _word_ , and that’s _it_. Because yeah, there are other ways of finding out where Debbie and the kids are – but a lot of those avenues get closed off if Aaron spills to Cain. 

The circuitous route would have been safer. More productive. It’s like Andy said – Debbie’s family, while Robert is…

Aaron holds his gaze. “Probably,” he admits. “But d’you _seriously_ think I’m gonna start snooping on my family on your say so? You say ‘jump’ and I say ‘how high’ – is that it?” He shakes his head. “You’ve got some nerve.”

_Robert_ is…

Aaron’s waiting. 

“No – that’s not it,” he finds himself saying. And it’s honest, yeah – but he still aims it like a battering ram at Aaron’s shields. Just, a sincere one. “ _If_ you decide to do it, I know it’ll be because it’s the right thing to do. Because you know _Andy_. Because after all he’s been through, the least he deserves is to know where his kids are. And you _know_ he wouldn’t do anything to hurt them – or Debbie. He couldn’t.” He looks at Aaron. “I mean, let’s face it – Dingle versus Sugden? I know who I’m backing in a fight, and it’s not Andy.”

He pauses, but Aaron doesn’t so much as crack a smile, eyes unwavering. He casts around, but there’s nothing else Robert can say, except, “At the end of the day, it’s your decision. Nothing to do with me.”

That part’s not quite true, because he looks at Aaron and his fingers clench into his palms. And yeah, of course it’s about Andy, and keeping his promise…

…but he also just – really wants Aaron to believe _him_. To choose to be on the same side as Robert. To jump. 

“And if I say no…?”

_If_.

“Then it’s ‘no’,” Robert says. 

Aaron scoffs. “Right. I say no, and I’m supposed to believe that you’ll be okay with that? You’re just gonna show up here tomorrow, no hard feelings, and that’ll be the end of it?”

The answer’s yes, obviously – a necessary bit of subterfuge for the sake of whatever remains of the circuitous route. After all, Andy’s _family_ , and Aaron is –

_Aaron_ is –

Aaron is still waiting. 

“Yeah,” Robert nods. “ _If_ ” –

Aaron jerks his head as if to say ‘oh, here we go.’

“ _If_ you’re okay with knowing that – I made a promise to Andy that I’d help him. And that means finding out where Debbie is. And I’m not gonna give up on that, whatever you decide.”

Aaron’s silent for a long moment, taking this in. “You probably shouldn’t have told me any of this,” he says finally. “I could make things really hard for you. For Andy.”

“Yeah. You could,” Robert allows. He meets Aaron’s eyes, and feels it kick in – a surge of that high wire, risk-taking adrenaline. “But…you haven’t actually said ‘no’ yet.”

“I’ve not said ‘yes,’ either,” he points out. 

Robert just looks at him and waits. 

Aaron exhales hard. Shakes his head like he can’t actually believe what he’s saying, and warns – “I’m not making any promises.” 

Okay, it’s an _Aaron-style_ jump – downplaying what he’s doing, even as he inches over the edge without a safety net. It still counts.

“Yeah,” Robert says, “Yeah, okay,” mouth stretching like an elastic to fit his smile.

*****

Tuesday evening, and when Robert steps inside the garage, there’s a Younger Lesser Dingle leaning back against a red Fiat, texting, and no sign of Aaron at all.

Said Lesser Dingle glances at him, before almost immediately returning to her phone. It’s the one that looks to be around Lachlan’s age. Robert blinks. 

“Hi,” he says, and when she looks up again, he tacks on a smile. “Belle, isn’t it? Robert.”

She continues to look at him. “I know who you are.” She’s soft-spoken, but it comes out disdainfully dismissive in a way that’s part teen, part arbitrary-grudge-carrying Dingle. The best of both worlds. 

Inwardly, Robert rolls his eyes. “Is Aaron around?”

“They should be back in a few minutes,” she tells him, the bulk of her attention already back on her mobile. 

“They?”

“Him and Cain. Who else?”

Going by the amount of foot-traffic this garage gets after closing time, a busload of Morris dancers could show up, and Robert would greet their arrival with nothing more than grim resignation. 

He has more questions but a look at Belle’s bowed head and he decides to save them. Luckily, it’s only about thirty seconds until the garage door opens again.

“Oh good – you’re still here,” Cain says, as he strides in. Robert tries and fails to make eye-contact with Aaron, who follows.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“Good thing – because I was starting to think about getting one of them kiddie leashes.”

“I’m sixteen – not three,” Belle tells him. “And I _am_ entitled to a bit of privacy – whatever you might think.”

From behind him, Aaron says, “She has got a point.” Cain turns on his heel and stares until Aaron shifts on his feet and mutters, “I’m just saying.”

“You want me to help you with your situation – you help me with mine,” he says.

“Oh, so I’m a ‘situation’ now? Thanks.” Belle folds her arms.

Cain draws in a sharp breath that’s obviously intended for sharper words – but then he presses his lips together and looks at the ceiling for a long moment. It takes visible effort for him to say, almost reasonably, “Look, why don’t you think of this as an opportunity?”

Belle gives an eloquent look around the garage. “An opportunity to do _what_? Learn what it feels like to live in a police state?”

Robert snorts, and three pairs of eyes swivel toward him. “Oh, come on – I can’t be the only one who appreciates the irony in that statement. Considering who she’s talking to.”

Cain eyes him, wordless but pithy, before turning back to Belle. “It’s like you said, you’re sixteen. And in a couple of weeks, you’ll be seventeen – old enough to apply for your provisional licence, and get behind a wheel.”

“Yeah. And?”

“ _And_ this is your opportunity to learn all you need to know about car maintenance.” He ambles over to the Allegro and toes the front. “From the ground up, so to speak.”

Belle surveys it. Decides, “Thanks, but I think I’d rather walk. For the rest of my life.”

Cain cocks his head to the side. “Probably safer, too,” he agrees. “Still – if this keeps you out of trouble for an hour or two, I won’t complain.” To Aaron, “Moira’ll be expecting me. You’ll drop _her_ ,” he nods at Belle, “back home when you’re done?”

“Don’t forget to handcuff me first,” Belle mumbles under her breath. 

Robert interrupts Aaron mid-agreement, as the penny drops. “Whoa, whoa, whoa – hang on a minute…you’re leaving her? With us?” The situation is suddenly vastly less amusing. 

“I’m sorry – did that part just slip past you while you were appreciating the irony?” Cain asks, before sauntering away. 

There’s a silence, during which Belle looks from Robert to Aaron before gesturing toward the back of the garage with a sigh. “Why don’t I go over there, while you two pretend not to talk about me?”

“Belle, that’s not” – Aaron begins.

“Thanks,” Robert says, and in a lower voice, as she walks off, “So?”

Aaron turns the palms of his hands upwards in a minimalist ‘what?’ gesture.

“Look – not that I’m not chuffed that you’re taking my advice, but…seriously, I don’t remember signing up to babysit your relatives.”

“You’re the one said you could be charming with my family,” Aaron points out. 

There’s really no answer to that, so Robert strikes out in a different direction. “What’s she done anyway, that requires this constant supervision?”

Aaron gives a one shouldered shrug, murmurs, through a mouth that barely moves, “Just…acting weird – disappearing off, won’t say where she’s been…that kind of thing.”

Robert stares at him. “So far, so standard teenager. Not to mention, don’t you think this is all a bit hypocritical – coming from _Cain Dingle_?”

In spite of his best efforts, his voice rises a little, and – “I couldn’t agree more,” Belle says, from behind him. 

Robert turns to face her. She’s got her hands cupping her elbows as her eyes flick between the two of them, and she asks, “Just wondering, are we gonna do any actual work tonight?” She adds a not-quite-offhand, “Since that’s supposedly why we’re all here.”

In spite of this, she takes Cain’s ‘car maintenance’ pitch in the half-hearted spirit in which it was intended – paying little to no attention to his and Aaron’s continued dismemberment of the rust-rotted banana that is the Austin Allegro. (In fairness, Robert himself is only participating in said dismemberment due to the presence of said disinterested audience).

He takes a few desultory pictures of their ‘progress’, and tries not to let his mind drift resentfully toward the unused back seat of the red Fiat. Wasn’t all this supposed to get easier, now that he and Aaron were both finally on the same page?

Every so often, he gets the distinct impression he’s being scrutinised, but whenever he looks up, Belle’s smirking down at her phone, thumbs flashing as she replies to a seemingly endless stream of messages.

Though by the end of the night, when Aaron finally declares that they’ve done enough, Belle is quick to straighten and sigh, “Finally.”

“I didn’t realise you were that bothered,” Robert remarks, as Aaron slopes off to get the keys. He nods toward the phone still in her hand. “Anyone else might have thought you were enjoying yourself.” 

“Just sharing a joke with a friend,” Belle says coolly. She pauses. “It’s funny, don’t you think?”

From her tone, it’s clear that he shouldn’t ask. Which of course, means that he can’t stop himself. “What is?”

“How… _obvious_ …some people are. Well, it makes me laugh, anyway.”

It’s like putting a hand into a box full of cotton wool and closing his fingers around a scalpel. Robert makes himself smile back, hard and unconcerned. He refuses to be phased by the digs of a teenage Dingle. “I’ll take your word for it.”

*****

Well, that settles it. The _Don’t Disturb_ sign has become a full-fledged fucking necessity – and Robert means that quite literally. So when he gets home, he starts browsing through reviews of hotels within a one hour radius of Emmerdale – and ends up contemplating the accompanying photos of empty beds and crisp linen with a kind of intense, frustrated horniness.

At the back of his mind, the Parkview is a blur of sheets and skin, push and pull, _maybe_ melting its way into yes. Still, even that is cut through with the incessant ringing of Aaron’s mobile, because they’d finally had the time to enjoy each other – but not nearly enough of it. 

This time, he books a whole weekend away.

*****

Wednesday, and he goes for the usual bracing meander to Home Farm. Usually, he just spends a couple of minutes surveying it from a safe distance, waiting while his vague feelings of dissatisfaction build like indigestion, and he has to turn back. This time, however, even though he stands and looks, it’s strange…like the whole thing is out of focus. He squints, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference, it’s still like looking at a picture or a postcard, instead of the real thing.

He makes his way closer, steps crunching up the driveway until the house is right in front of him, an immense structure, all stately stone and chimneys and large windows. Robert gives himself a moment to look. This close, he has to turn his head to take it all in…and this is just the beginning of it. But he doesn’t even have to picture the vast interior, the back, the scope and range of the grounds…here and now, the simple sweep of the entrance is all it takes to put him in perspective – no longer looking down at the estate, but looking up. 

There’s a small patch of ivy climbing its way along the wall, over to his left. Inside the window nearest to him, the white blinds are shuttered. Absently, he wonders about security and the previous owners as he reaches out. The stone scrapes, rough and solid against his palm, and it’s like he can see himself from the outside, from above. Jack laying a puny hand on the sleeping giant. It’s strange though – he doesn’t feel as small as he knows he must look. He drops his arm down by his side. He doesn’t know what he expected.

He takes a step back, hands dipping into his pockets – brushing against the folded up booking confirmation for The Crown Hotel and Spa. He takes a last look at Home Farm before turning away.

*****

Back in the village, just as he passes David’s Shop, Ross exits the premises, a wrapped roll in one hand and wearing – a pair of blue mechanic’s overalls. He raises his eyebrows in inquiry, as Robert does a double take and comes to a halt. “What’s all this then?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know what you mean,” before he sticks out his free hand. “Ross Barton, by the way.”

Robert stares. “We’ve already met,” he reminds him. 

“Have we?” Ross affects puzzlement. He blows out a breath as he feigns trying to place Robert. “Sorry – no clue. But then, I’ve got a head like a sieve, me. Couldn’t put a name to a face if you paid me.” He leans a bit closer like he’s talking in confidence as he says, “Speaking of, I’d better be going. I’d love to stay and chat, but if I’m late on me first day back, well,” he sucks air in through his teeth, “there go my chances for employee of the month, so…”

He swaggers off, leaving Robert to frown over the whole exchange. 

And – hang on a minute…did he just say his name was _Barton_?

*****

Robert makes a show of looking around the garage when he enters. Enough that when Aaron notices, he switches off the angle grinder to say, “What?”

“Just wondering who’s gonna be our third wheel tonight,” Robert says. “Familiar face or someone new…don’t keep me in suspense here.” He looks around again. “Did Belle make a break for it, or something?”

“Actually, I left her at the pub with Mum – having a moan about Cain,” Aaron says. He scrubs his forehead with the back of a safety-gloved hand. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get over it,” Robert tells him, with a deliberate, dragging glance down Aaron’s body. Aaron all to himself for tonight, and a reservation in his pocket promising even more. He smiles to himself. Things are finally looking up.

But first…

“Mind you, I don’t know why Belle’s complaining,” he says, as he wanders over closer to Aaron, who sets down the angle grinder. “Considering that the worst thing he’s done to the bloke who drove his daughter out of town is…give him a job.”

At Aaron’s look he says, “I ran into Ross earlier.” Robert tips his head to the side, studies him. “Cain tell you that was how he was planning on sorting it?”

“Not in so many words.” Aaron concentrates on peeling off his gloves.

Robert remembers the look on his face that first evening when Ross had shown up. Even now, there’s a faint line between his eyebrows, his mouth a flat line. He looks tired. “And are you all right with it?”

Aaron shrugs. “Cain says he’s had a talk with him – straightened things out.” 

“Who’d have thought? Cain Dingle, diplomat,” Robert says. Amazing that he was able to bury that strong streak of pacifism that time he tried to turn Robert’s face into bloodied pulp. 

“And we’re short-staffed,” Aaron continues. “Cain can’t keep the garage going like this – him and Dan…me mucking in whenever I get a chance. It’s not gonna work, long term. Especially not if he wants Debbie to have something solid to come back to.”

“He _does_ expect her to come back then?” Robert says, jumping on this. “Did he say something? Did you get a chance to ask him about her?”

Aaron frowns at him, then looks away. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

“Yeah, all right. You’re right,” Robert says. He rests a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, thumb stroking against the bare skin of his neck. “Well, I won’t say I’m not glad, if having an extra mechanic around frees up your schedule. You could do with taking things easy for a bit.”

He’s planning on pulling out the reservation then, but when Aaron looks at him, his frown deepens if anything, as if Robert’s given a wrong answer to a question. And when Robert leans in, he moves his head slightly to the side – enough to make the message clear. 

Robert pulls back a bit. “What?”

“Nothing,” Aaron says.

“Yeah, picture of relaxation, you are,” Robert tells him, a verbal eye-roll. “Come here.” 

His body’s still stiff when Robert draws him closer, but Robert ignores this and just holds on, hand cupping Aaron’s neck. His other arm slides around Aaron’s waist, the flat of his palm rubbing slowly up and down his back. Robert can feel the strain slowly easing out of him, Aaron’s hands coming to rest loosely on his hips, though he never fully relaxes into the embrace. 

Robert waits until it becomes evident that this is the best he’s going to get. At least it’s an improvement – a single thread of tension, as opposed to a series of knots. 

“Better?” he asks.

Aaron makes a sound he chooses to interpret as agreement. “Okay. You,” Robert kisses the skin behind his ear and says, “- have got two choices now. The offer to talk still stands, so…you could always tell me whatever it is you’re pretending isn’t bothering you…” Under his hands, he can feel Aaron’s body tightening right up again. 

“Or,” he rubs his nose along Aaron’s cheekbone, and follows it with another kiss, “I could just – do something to take your mind off it.”

He thinks he knows what option’s got Aaron’s vote, but a second later –

“We’re supposed to start on the underseal tonight,” he says.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Robert says, moving in for a proper kiss, but Aaron’s hands press against his hips, keeping him at a distance.

“Right,” Robert says, pulling back. He doesn’t try to hide the clipped chill in his voice. “Underseal.”

Aaron opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again. His hands are still on Robert’s hips, holding on even as he’s pushing Robert away.

Robert takes a step back, breaking their contact. Fine. He can take a hint. “We gonna get started or what?”

“Robert” –

“No, no – you want to do the underseal, let’s get to it. I mean, seeing as that’s the only reason we’re here.” He pulls off his jacket with tight, angry motions, and looks around for a dust mask. “Well? Chop chop.”

They work in silence – not that there’s much choice, given the nature of what they’re doing – the rough sound of sanding filling the space like the argument they’re not having. Robert can feel Aaron’s attention on him, but he doesn’t look at him, doesn’t react at all. Let Aaron work for it, this time.

The silence between them continues when they stop for a teabreak – and Robert looks down into his mug, resolutely refusing to make eye contact, until, finally, with an exasperated sound, Aaron gets up. 

“You wanted to know what was bothering me?” he says.

“Actually, I’m not that pushed anymore,” Robert tells his tea. Though he does sneak a look as Aaron walks off, over to where his coat, a puffy black and grey thing, is hanging. He shoves a hand into one of the pockets and pulls something out, before turning. Robert quickly looks back down.

Until Aaron thrusts what he’s holding – an envelope, with something scrawled on the back – under Robert’s nose.

“Here,” he says, brandishing it until Robert takes it. There’s a phone number written on it – along with a name and address.

He reads it in silence before asking, “…this is genuine?”

Aaron swings himself back down onto the crate he’s been sitting on, and says, “What d’you think?”

“Debbie’s in France? With the kids?”

“Looks like it.” It’s Aaron’s turn to look away, to refuse to meet Robert’s eyes.

In spite of that, Robert keeps his gaze fixed on him as he says, “Thanks. I mean it. Andy…he’ll be made up.”

Aaron does look at him then, sudden and full on. “Don’t make me regret this,” he says.

“You won’t,” Robert tells him. He puts the envelope to one side, before leaning forward, placing both hands on Aaron’s knees. He doesn’t blink, so close it feels like Aaron could read the tiniest flicker or hesitation before the thought so much as crossed his mind. “I promise you.”

He stays there until finally, Aaron nods. Decides, “All right.”

Robert smiles. Releases his grip on Aaron’s legs with a last squeeze, the moment finally right to mention The Crown Hotel and Spa. “Well, now that we’re celebrating, I’ve got something to show you.” 

He stands, leaving Aaron still seated and perfectly positioned to say, “If it’s what I think it is, I’ve already seen it. Hate to tell you, mate – but it’s not that impressive.” In spite of his words, Aaron’s eyes don’t stray above Robert’s waist, like he’s just daring Robert to unzip, to force him to swallow his…words. 

Something pulls low in Robert’s stomach at the thought, tempted ( _Aaron’s hands on his thighs, his mouth_ –), but he pulls out the creased and folded booking confirmation anyway. _Later_. “I was talking about this.”

“What is it?” Aaron says, as he takes it.

“Two nights in a premier hotel in Leeds. Four star service in one of their deluxe suites.” Robert rattles off. He waits as Aaron scans the page – though he finally loses patience and demands, “Well?”

Aaron looks up at him. “I didn’t find out about Debbie for _this_.”

“Well that’s a relief – since I didn’t shell out for a weekend away on the off chance that you had.” Robert feels a confused grin sliding across his face. 

“You’re telling me this isn’t my reward or whatever?” Aaron’s mouth twists. “For doing what you wanted – like a good little boy?”

_Jesus_. It’s like trying to fuck an easily-offended hedgehog. The smallest thing, and the bristles go up. Half the time, Robert doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong. 

“Aaron – I didn’t even know you’d _found_ Debbie until ten minutes ago.” His voice is getting louder. “I’d already booked the hotel, because I thought we could do with some time to ourselves. How is this even a problem?” 

Aaron’s shoulders lower, accepting this, but he still shoves the sheet back at Robert like it’s burning his fingers. “We can’t go, anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

Aaron stares at him. “Because what’s everyone gonna think if we go away together – _again_? And for a _weekend_? It’s too risky. Adam and Vic are bound to ask questions.”

“So? I’ll think of something. Anyway, I doubt their first thought is gonna be ‘illicit gay affair’.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Aaron mutters. 

Robert stops, arrested. “Why? Got a bit of a reputation, have you?” He studies Aaron’s dark, bowed head, as the idea snags and catches in his mind. “Secret hotel hookups – I have to say, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.”

He doesn’t have any problem imagining it though, and it makes an odd proprietary lust pool in his stomach. Aaron laid out on a bed in some anonymous room, booked for the specific purpose of sex – eyes fixed on the door, waiting. 

Waiting for _Robert_ , this time. 

“Just – leave it, would ya?” Aaron gets to his feet, tries to brush past. 

Before he can, Robert grabs his arm and turns him around. “Hang on, hang on. Just – give me a minute, all right?” His mind sparks, working double time under pressure, casting around for the perfect excuse…

…and suddenly, there it is. 

“Did you and Adam ever sort something out with that bloke in Shipley?” he asks. “The one with the sheet-manufacturing business?”

“What?” Aaron frowns, thrown by the question. “No – why?”

“Well, there you have it. We say you’re meeting up with him, trying to come to an arrangement.”

Of course, presented with a ready-made alibi, Aaron’s first instinct is to pull it to pieces. “And why are _you_ tagging along?”

“Because you,” Robert says slowly, thinking it through aloud, “want to take advantage of my business acumen. I have done this sort of thing before, you know.” There’s an odd look on Aaron’s face and Robert prompts him, “Meeting clients? Making deals?”

He still doesn’t appear convinced and Robert says, “We could actually _do_ it, you know. Schedule an appointment with this bloke, figure out what it’ll take to make him happy. Bring home some new business for the scrapyard, and believe me, Adam won’t be asking _that_ many questions.”

Aaron looks at him. “Yeah. Except for the obvious ones. Why would it take the whole weekend to sort out? And why would we stay overnight? _Twice_? It’s quicker to just drive home.”

“So we say the guy’s a hard sell – we had to meet him more than once,” Robert concocts, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Or the car broke down. Or maybe he took us out for a drink, and by the time we called it a night, it was quicker to check in somewhere. There. Pick your favourite.” 

Aaron doesn’t say anything in response, and Robert holds up the reservation again. “I take it that’s all your criteria satisfied, then?” 

Aaron glances down – and stops, eyes fixed on the page, something in his mouth and face going soft. 

Robert smiles. _Result_.

And then Aaron shakes his head. “No.”

The smile wipes away. “What? Come on, Aaron, I’ve _told_ you” –

“And I told _you_ ,” he fires back, “This thing – us – it’s not supposed to get complicated.”

“It’s a weekend away, not an engagement ring.” Robert lets out a huff of air. “And _you’re_ the only one who’s making it difficult.”

“Right – because telling a pack of lies to my best mate and business partner… _that’s_ casual, is it?”

“You don’t have to lie – I told you, if we actually meet up with that bloke” –

“And going behind my family’s back, trading favours,” he continues, relentless, “handing over Debbie’s address – that’s no big deal either, right?”

It’s like being smashed into by a ten foot wave, and trying to keep his balance. “I didn’t say that…but that was for Andy – not me.”

“It wasn’t _Andy_ who _asked me_ , though, was it?!” 

In the sudden silence that follows this outburst, Aaron presses both hands to his forehead, and breathes out heavily. “It’s only been a week, and things are already all mixed up.”

It’s not that Robert’s not sympathetic – it’s just that…fuck it, you know what? Robert’s _not_ really sympathetic – because Aaron has somehow managed to turn an invitation to stay in a four star hotel into some kind of grim Shakespearean tragedy. 

“Right,” Robert says, voice tightening, “So – we can’t count on spending time together _here_ , because god knows who’s gonna show up…and going to a _hotel_ is apparently too complicated.” 

He holds his palms out by his sides before dropping them back against his thighs. “You tell me – just how is this thing supposed to work again?”

“Yeah, well – maybe it _doesn’t_ ,” Aaron bites out.

They both stop dead. 

“…what?” Robert says. 

He can hear Aaron’s breathing, the sound of his clothes as he shifts on his feet. “You heard me.”

No. 

No way.

_Back_ the fuck _up_.

Robert doesn’t even feel shocked, so much as disbelieving…as in, he genuinely doesn’t believe what Aaron is saying. Luckily it’s clear from both the expression on his face and the way he’s saying it, that Aaron’s not convinced either.

“You don’t mean that,” he tells Aaron. It’s not an argument – just a simple statement of fact. _This_ …it’s just Aaron lashing out and hitting the big red self-destruct button, because it’s the closest thing within range – and it’s instinctive, how quickly Robert goes into damage control mode. 

“Don’t I?” Defiant, face-saving words, but he’s waiting on Robert’s reply like it’s a lifeline. 

“Of course not.” He reaches out, hands soothing down Aaron’s arms. “You’ve had a lot to deal with lately, that’s all. I mean, between Ross, Cain…this thing with Debbie…it’s no wonder you’re stressed out.” 

He lowers his voice, offers an admission to further defuse the situation, “And I shouldn’t have pressured you, about the hotel. I’ll cancel it, if that’s what you’d prefer.” He takes a half-step closer, still holding on. “But…let’s not make _this_ into something bigger than it is, all right?” 

Aaron turns his head to the side, doesn’t say anything. 

“Look, why don’t we just leave things for now? Go home – have an early night. I’m telling you, a bit of space, some decent kip, and by tomorrow you’ll be seeing everything differently.” 

Robert puts his hands on Aaron’s face, compelling Aaron to look right back at him. “We can sort this, okay?”

Of _course_ Aaron will agree, because…he has to. There’s just no other possible outcome, as far as Robert is concerned.

He’s absolutely and completely confident – but in that brief space as he waits for an answer, doubt spreads numbness like anaesthetic, his fingers suddenly cold and clumsy against warm skin.

A half-second later – and finally, _finally_ , Aaron nods.

*****

And so, way before he plans on being there, Robert finds himself back in the cottage, envelope in hand, and tapping on Andy’s bedroom door. At least one thing has gone unequivocally right tonight, he supposes.

The handle turns, and Andy appears. He looks at Robert. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” Robert says. He holds out the envelope. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Andy takes it. Stares at the writing. “This – this is Debbie’s address.”

“And her phone number,” Robert points out. “I told you to leave it with me.”

Andy just looks at him. Then back down at the envelope, as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he takes his eyes off it.

It’s at this moment that Vic exits the bathroom, a bottle of shampoo in each hand. “Robert!” she says, “Just the person I wanted to see. Quick - what d’you think? Hydrating?” She holds up one bottle, then the other, “Or volumising?”

She stops, sensing something is up, glancing between him and Andy. “What’s going on?”

Andy looks at her. “I know where my kids are.” There’s a hairline crack running through his voice, just enough to be noticeable. 

“What?”

“I know where Jack and Sarah are. They’re in France. Look.” He shows her the envelope, the paper curving under the pressure of his fingers. 

“Oh, _Andy_ ,” abruptly, Robert finds himself in possession of two bottles of shampoo, as Vic throws her arms around Andy, “That’s _brilliant_! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s all down to Robert,” he says, their eyes meeting over Vic’s shoulder. “So it’s him you should be hugging.”

The corners of Robert’s mouth lift in acknowledgment, as Vic pulls back. “Really?” she says. “You did this?”

It’s petty, but – “I can be helpful, sometimes,” Robert can’t stop himself from saying. “When I’m given the chance.”

He holds her eyes, refusing to look away until she turns back to Andy with a small frown. 

“So? What now?” she asks. “Are you gonna call Debbie?”

“No.” Andy shakes his head. 

Her frown deepens. “What? But” –

“I’m not going to _call_ her,” Andy interrupts. He looks at Vic, at Robert. “I’m gonna go over there and see them.”

*****

Aaron’s tired.

He’s stressed out. 

Pressured. Pissed off. In a painful, near-permanent state of sexual frustration. 

And no wonder – they’ve finally allowed this simmering _thing_ between them to come to a boil…but they haven’t even had a chance to enjoy it, not properly. Not with all this other irrelevant time-sapping _stuff_ that keeps cropping up and getting in the way. 

The most annoying part is – Robert _understands_. More than that, he knows exactly how to fix it. The problem is, the cure is the very same thing Aaron had so vehemently shot down just an hour before. He needs a break, and _they_ need a couple of days to themselves. No distractions. No one else making demands, or breathing down their necks. 

Just because Aaron’s irrationally opposed…that doesn’t automatically change anything. 

Robert taps his fingers against the side of his laptop. Looks at the webpage.

The Crown Hotel. And Spa. 

He doesn’t cancel the reservation.

*****

He and Vic see Andy off at his car extremely early the next morning.

“You’re sure about this,” Vic says – again – as he throws his dufflebag into the boot. “I mean – that this is the right thing to do? Booking a ticket and just…showing up?”

“I’m certain,” Andy tells her. “Vic – I’ve not seen my kids in months. Now that I finally know where they are – I need to _be there_. To hold them. I can’t wait another second, and I’m not giving Debbie – or anyone else – the chance to talk me out of it.”

Vic’s expression softens. “All right,” she says. “I can understand that.”

Andy closes the boot with a slam, then touches her arm, “Now stop worrying, will you? I promise I’ll call her before I turn up on the doorstep.”

“Yeah – a bit of advance notice probably won’t hurt,” Robert says. “Come to think of it – what did you tell Moira this morning?”

“Not much. Just that I was taking some time off – a week, at least.”

“And she was all right with that?” Vic says.

“I didn’t give her much choice.” He looks at his watch, then jerks his hand toward the car. “I’d better…”

Vic gives him a wide, slightly unsteady smile, and a hug. “Well, best of luck,” she says. “Say hi to Jack and Sarah for us. And don’t forget to let us know when you get there – and when you’re coming home.”

“I will,” Andy tells her, as she draws back. 

He turns to Robert, who opens his mouth to add his good wishes – but before he can, Andy’s hands are on his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. It’s disorienting – quick but fierce, a there and gone pressure against his chest, his back, a murmured, “Thank you,” brushing his ear.

He hardly has time to lift his arms and awkwardly hug back before it’s over – though the feel of it lingers, like an echo, as Andy stands back and looks at him. He nods at Robert, just once. Smiles. And then he’s sitting into the driver’s seat and closing the door. 

They watch him drive off in silence – and when he disappears from view, Vic lets out a long breath. 

Robert puts an arm around her shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” he says.

“Yeah,” Vic says, still looking in the direction the car has gone. “Yeah.”

*****

Later in the day, and he makes a necessary detour, knocking on the door of the scrapyard portacabin and poking his head in.

Aaron, wearing an orange high-vis vest, stares at him from behind one of the cluttered desks. 

“Adam not in?” Robert asks, as a conversation starter. Aaron is still clearly absorbing his sudden presence, hand paused mid-reach toward a mug with some pens in it.

“He’s doing a collection – he’ll be back any minute,” he says. Then, accusingly, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see your friendly face, obviously.” Robert deadpans, straying a little closer.

The chair scrapes against the floor. “I thought you were giving me a bit of space?” 

“Yeah – I was.”

“You can’t just drop in on me at work for no reason.” Aaron shakes his head. “This is exactly what I was talking about last night. You’ve always got to _push it_ , don’t you?” His fingers spread on the desk like exclamation points.

“No, really, keep complaining – it’s one of your more endearing qualities,” Robert tells him. Then, “And I _have_ got a reason for being here, as it happens. I came to talk about the hotel.”

“What’s there to talk about? You said you were cancelling it.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.”

Aaron expels a hard little breath, like it’s a bone stuck in his throat. “Of course you did. Can’t believe I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Wow.” Robert just stands there and takes him in. He’s never seen _anyone_ more in need of a relaxing weekend away in a four star hotel. “Would it kill you to dial back the attitude a bit? I never said _you_ were the one I came here to talk to.”

Aaron is visibly thrown at this – which, shitty week that it’s been, actually counts as a high point. “Then who?” Outside the portacabin, there’s the sound of wheels on gravel. “… _Adam_?” 

Robert inclines his head, and there’s a cautious silence before Aaron says, “You…want to take Adam to a hotel?” 

“Oh yeah, I’ve been dying to show him a good time,” he says. “You’re kidding, right?” He starts to think that a weekend’s relaxation is probably too conservative an estimate when it comes to what Aaron needs. 

There’s a slam and the sound of footsteps. There’s probably not enough time, but he still lowers his voice and says, “Listen, I went online last night to cancel, and I started thinking” –

Before he can finish, the portacabin door wrenches open and the man in question walks in, expansive greeting on his lips curling up into confusion as he catches sight of Robert.

“Hullo,” he says, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Everything alright?”

“It is now you’re here,” Robert says smoothly – and he reaches into his pocket and proffers the booking confirmation for The Crown Hotel and Spa. “I wanted to run something past you – see what you think.”

Adam takes it after a second’s pause. “What’s this?”

“A weekend break, at a first class hotel – for you and Vic,” Robert makes himself say. There’s a stab of annoyance at the thought of _Adam Barton_ enjoying the suite he’d booked with himself and Aaron and sex in mind, but he tamps it down. He tries not to even consider Vic’s presence in this updated scenario. 

“Is this a joke or summat?”

“If it is, it’s a very expensive one. Seeing as I’m the one footing the bill.” 

“You are? Really?” He blows out a disbelieving breath, thought furrowing his brow. It’s an unfamiliar look. “What’s this in aid of?”

Robert blinks. It’s like _no-one_ understands what constitutes an appropriate reaction upon being offered an all-expenses paid, four-star weekend away. “Little tip for you – most people prefer a thank you, instead of an interrogation.” He doesn’t look, but he’s very aware of Aaron, standing off to the side. “Unless you don’t _want_ to go, of course.”

“Ey, ey – I never said that.” Adam shields the booking confirmation with his other hand, before adding a belated, awkward, “I mean – thanks…”

“Yeah, don’t strain yourself. I’m not doing it to make _you_ happy.” There’s a slight shift of movement to his left.

“I never would’ve guessed,” Adam says. Then, softer, “Vic’ll be thrilled, though.”

“And I do have _one_ condition,” Robert says, and this time he does take the reservation back, picking it neatly between thumb and forefinger.

“Knew this was too good to be true.” Adam says to Aaron – making it safe enough for Robert to risk turning his head. Aaron’s already looking at him, a line between his eyebrows, though it seems more like preoccupation than irritation. He barely even reacts to Adam, just giving him a grunt and a flicker of attention before he swerves right back to Robert.

It’s a bit disconcerting, and not exactly subtle – but luckily, Adam’s got other things on his mind. “All right – lay it on me.” He holds his hand palm up and crooks his fingers, like Robert’s condition is a badly behaved dog. “What d’you want me to do?”

Robert draws it out, savouring the moment. “I want you to call up that sheet manufacturer in Shipley – and sort out a proper deal with him.”

Adam’s forehead creases. “What? Why?”

“Because that’s how business is supposed to _work_? Plum clients don’t generally just fall in your lap without you making an effort, you know.” 

“Making an effort? Are you having a laugh? I practically bent over backwards trying to get him onboard.”

“When you weren’t avoiding answering his calls,” Robert points out. “I’m amazed this place is still running, with that attitude to customer service.”

“Most customers aren’t complete nutjobs, though. I don’t even know what it would take to convince him.”

“Well, just think of _this_ as an incentive to figure it out,” Robert says, and waves the booking confirmation. Yeah, okay, he’s picking up the tab – but that doesn’t mean Adam’s getting this weekend scot free. He shrugs. “But if that’s too much for you…”

Adam’s jaw firms. “You’re on.” He pulls his mobile out of his pocket, holding it out for Robert to see, before pulling it back and scrolling through his contacts. “Just give me a sec to…yeah – here it is. Under ‘missed’. Oh – and there it is again. And again. And…remind me why I’m doing this?” He makes a face as he presses the button, then straightens. “Hello? Yeah, Mr Barlow, it’s Adam Barton – from Holey Scrap, remember?”

A pause.

“That long? Really? Well, I’m sorry to have kept you waiti – no, it’s not our usual practice…I – yeah, I can understand why you might think that” –

Robert watches, smug contentment suffusing him as Adam gets a long overdue lesson in customer relations. 

“– right. You know what, you’re totally right.” Adam sinks into the chair by the door, and covers the mouthpiece of his phone to mutter at Robert, “ _this better be worth it_ ,” before returning to the, by the sounds of it, still irate Mr Barlow, “– should have rung you back” – 

Robert turns and deliberately places the booking confirmation on Aaron’s desk. “Here. You can let him have this when he’s done.” 

“Not sticking around to make sure he seals the deal, then?”

“He seems pretty committed,” Robert says, with a quick glance over his shoulder. “I mean, if he hasn’t hung up by now…” 

“Suppose,” Aaron agrees. (“- just wondering if there’s any way I could make it up to you?” Adam says, continuing the uphill battle from his chair)

He slides the paper across the desk by the tips of his fingers – until Aaron stops it with his own hand. It’s an odd thing, and it burns into Robert’s mind with a flash like a just-taken photograph – the image of his fingers and Aaron’s, not touching, but connected by that small white rectangle.

He doesn’t lift his hand away immediately. Neither does Aaron.

(“– like, let’s say…offering you a-a discount… _how_ much? Are you joking?” –)

“Robert?” Aaron hesitates, biting at his lip. “I’ll – see you later?”

Robert looks at him. “Later,” he agrees, before he steps away.

*****

“ _Arrived_. That’s it – nothing else,” Vic says. She leans in his bedroom doorway and studies Andy’s one word text. “I mean – would it kill him to give a bit more detail? Stick a smiley face on there at least. I’d even settle for the little poo one at this stage.”

“Good to know,” Robert says. He finishes lacing up his shoes before sitting back on his bed. “Vic – he’s busy, that’s all. He’s only just got there – there’s no chance he’s even seen them yet.”

“I know.” She looks down at her phone again.

“You need to stop fussing. He’ll let us know when anything important happens.” He says ‘us’, even though so far, Andy’s only texted Vic. Hours later, Robert’s still replaying that awkward hug from the morning.

“Yeah. You’re right,” Vic says, crossing her arms so that her mobile is folded into the crook of her elbow. “Good thing me and Adam are going away to Leeds this weekend, eh? Nice hotel, cocktails, few spa treatments…that’ll definitely help take my mind off things.”

“What?” Robert says, because while Vic sounds like she’s actually looking forward to it, she’s also regarding him with this knowing quirk to her mouth.

“You know, it would’ve been cheaper to just say sorry.”

He gets that she feels hard done by – and yeah, she’s probably got some reason for that. But that doesn’t mean he’s in the wrong. 

The hurt he felt upon finding out about Andy is smaller now, but not _less_ – just compressed to something more manageable, like a bitter little marble. He’s _never_ going to apologise for being left out of a crucial time in Andy’s life. For not being given the option to be there. 

Still, Vic hasn’t been plaguing him with inanities like what she should wear to work (“…your chef’s uniform?”) or what brand of soap to buy since last night, and Robert’s willing to do his part to preserve this new truce. 

“Yeah, but an apology wouldn’t come with the option of a hot stone massage, now would it?”

She cocks her head to the side, and says mildly, “Point taken.”

He still hasn’t said sorry – but then, she hasn’t said thank you either. 

It’s all right. 

Maybe not at this very second. But…it will be.

They will be.

*****

Aaron keeps shooting these looks at him, covert little flicks from the corners of his eyes, under his lids. Robert only just manages to catch them – whenever he glances up, or turns his head, Aaron’s already looking away, their gazes bumping for an electric millisecond before sliding past again.

It’s like a door left slightly ajar – an invitation. And the only thing stopping Robert from entering is –

“It’s giving me a rash just looking at it,” Belle says, eyeing a patch of rust with distaste.

“That must be why you’ve been staring at your phone all night,” Robert says. It’s almost a joke, but there’s a hard ring to the words. 

“Hilarious,” she says, and crosses her arms. “Don’t tell me you actually plan on driving it.”

Robert looks at the thing, and conceals his instinctive flinch at the thought. Travelling by donkey would be a faster and more aesthetically pleasing experience. “Why would I be in here restoring it, if I didn’t intend to use it after?”

“I don’t know,” Belle says. “You tell me.”

Aaron approaches with two mugs in hand, and passes him a tea he didn’t ask for. “Thanks,” he says, and gets another soft, charged moment of eye-contact. Aaron looks away, blows on his drink to cool it. Robert follows the movement of his mouth. “I should drop Belle back home after this.”

“Like a package,” Belle mutters.

“Come off it, I’m hardly gonna let you walk back by yourself in the dark,” Aaron says.

“Because I’m incapable of getting home now.”

Frustration surges through Robert, and he takes a scalding sip of tea. His blood is hot, and his skin feels tight, like a balloon blown up to the point of bursting. He wants Belle gone – and the fact that she just as clearly doesn’t want to be here only pours petrol onto the flames of his impatience. 

They’ve been intruded upon all week, and objectively, considering what he’s got planned, one more night isn’t going to make all that much of a difference. _Subjectively_ , however, it’s a different story, and Robert can’t help feeling, with an intensity that twists unpleasantly in his chest, that the least karma owes him after today is some time alone with Aaron. 

Karma, it turns out, looks an awful lot like Cain Dingle, who swings open the door five minutes later and jerks his head at Belle with a, “You ready to go?”

“Since I got here,” Belle informs him.

“I thought I was driving her back,” Aaron says. Robert cuts his eyes at him in the visual equivalent of a four letter word. 

“Change of plan. Try not to be too disappointed,” Cain says, then to Belle as he ushers her out, “I thought we could have another little chat.”

“Another cross-examination, you mean,” Belle says, as she moves past. 

Leaving Robert and Aaron alone. 

At long fucking last. 

Robert watches the door close behind her. It’s like the air is lighter, all of a sudden. He takes a breath, and feels his chest expand with it. He has to fight down a grin as he turns back to Aaron. “Okay, seriously, _what’s_ she done?” 

Aaron takes a swig of tea and grimaces. “Cain’s got it in his head that she’s sneaking around because she’s still seeing her ex.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Dunno. Maybe because Kirin’s currently living with his girlfriend and their baby,” Aaron says, sarcastic. “Could be anything, really.”

“Suppose that explains the lockdown,” he says, then spurred by lingering resentment over the last couple of days, “…pointless as it is.” 

Aaron frowns at him. “Pointless?”

Robert takes a last gulp of cooling-liquid from his mug, simultaneously sorry to have mentioned it, but satisfied to have an opportunity to bring up the holes in Cain’s plan. He’s missed time with Aaron because of this half-arsed over-protective bullshit. “She’s been texting nonstop.”

“You think she was texting him?”

“Him, or someone else.” He reaches around Aaron, to put his tea down. He doesn’t step back, and Aaron doesn’t move either – though they’re standing way too close for casual conversation. Aaron’s eyes drop down to his mouth and then snap back up again.

Time, Robert thinks, to wrap this up. “If it’s the first, then Cain’s little lockdown isn’t accomplishing anything. And if it’s the second, well, then there’s not much need for a lockdown, is there? Unless Belle’s got a type, of course.” He takes the mug out of Aaron’s hands and sets it down, definitively closing the subject.

Aaron looks at him, eyes dark, but with this veneer of couldn’t-care-less challenge that Robert finds an incredible turn on. “So,” he asks, voice rough and low. “Now what?”

Robert tugs Aaron in by his hips, until they’re body to body. “That’s up to you.”

Aaron ends up on his knees on the dirty concrete floor, Robert’s hands on his head, mouth on Robert’s cock, while Robert takes juddering breaths that he expels in soft, shaky “ _Fuck_ …oh _fuck_ ”s, hips jerking forward despite the hard press of Aaron’s fingers.

He slides one of his hands down to Aaron’s face, touching his jaw, his hollowing cheeks as he works. Robert’s thumb just brushes Aaron’s mouth, stretched tight around him. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, “…yeah” and “ _Fuck_ , Aaron – I’m gonna” –

Afterwards, Robert means to repay him in kind, but he ends up leaning against Aaron, bones still half-melted, stroking him off unsteadily. Aaron clutches at his back, his sides, and breathes these hot, wordless groans against the side of Robert’s face, before his hips drive up hard and fast, and he spills over Robert’s fist. 

They stay there for a few moments, slumped and propping each other up. Robert drifts a bit, tucking his face into Aaron’s neck. _This_ is worth it – all the aggro, the unused hotel beds, the seemingly neverending interruptions. Worth the hassle. Worth waiting for. He hears Aaron swallow right by his ear before he pulls back. 

He busies himself rebuttoning and zipping, and when he’s done, he looks at Robert and says, “Thanks.”

“All part of the service,” Robert tells him, as he hitches up his own jeans.

Aaron snorts. “Not that. I meant – the hotel.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so grateful _not_ to be wined and dined,” Robert says. There’s still some disappointment at the thought of a freshly sheeted king sized bed…but it’s dissipating at the look on Aaron’s face, even though all he does is shrug, “Yeah well, you listened, didn’t you.”

“Yeah. I did. Even when it meant giving up a perfectly good hotel suite for no reason,” Robert catches hold of his rezipped hoodie to pull him close again to suggest, “Maybe you could return the favour now?”

Aaron frowns. “How’s that?”

“Just listen to me,” Robert says. “That’s all.” He sneaks a hand under the hem of Aaron’s hoodie, his t-shirt, to touch the warm, slightly damp skin of his back. “You weren’t up for doing a weekend away…so why,” his fingers start tiptoeing their way up Aaron’s spine, “don’t we stay in instead?” 

“What?” He looks at Robert, the skin around his eyes creasing up in confusion.

“Well, with Andy away, and now Vic and Adam going off…I’ve got the house to myself this weekend, don’t I?” Robert says. He presses closer and whispers right into Aaron’s ear, “How do you feel about a staycation?”

“Hang on a minute – let’s just see if I’ve got this,” Aaron steps back, eyes fixed on Robert’s. “I tell you we can’t go away together, because it’ll be a dead giveaway. So your new plan is…for us to stay in a house right smack in the middle of the village.” He pauses. “Is this a wind-up?”

“It’s definitely starting to feel like one,” Robert says, exasperated. “What’s the problem now? You wanted casual – well, it doesn’t get more casual than _this_.”

Aaron just keeps staring at him, a slight frown on his face.

“What?” Robert says.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“You’ve picked a funny time to get all shy on me.”

Aaron shakes his head again. “No, it’s just…” his eyes are intent, his voice slow, piecing Robert together like a jigsaw puzzle. “I don’t know…sometimes, it’s like you _want_ to get caught.”

“A bit of risk just adds to the thrill,” Robert says. He leans in and scrapes his teeth against the corner of Aaron’s jaw. “Besides…it’s not like I’m planning on throwing a surprise party. It’s just gonna be you and me. I can even pull the blinds and lock the doors, if that makes you feel better.”

He kisses Aaron, his mouth soft but his body solid against Robert’s – and _fuck_ , but they deserve some time to just…explore this. Test the limits. 

Hang out.

“Come on, Aaron. Just us, all weekend,” he coaxes. “What do you say?”

Aaron clears his throat. He presses his lips together, before suddenly releasing a long breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Okay.”

*****

“Right,” Vic looks around one more time. “I think that’s everything.”

“Can’t be,” Adam says. “We’ve not packed the kitchen sink yet.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” She shoves her bag at his chest. “Now _you_ get to carry _this_.”

He pretends to stagger out of the kitchen. Vic rolls her eyes, and turns back to Robert. “Well,” she says. “I guess we’re off.”

Robert swallows the final bite of his toast before dropping the plate onto the draining board. “Have a good time,” he says.

“We will,” Vic says, but she doesn’t make any move to go. Robert raises his eyebrows at her.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” she says immediately. “Not – not really. It’s just…” she hesitates, then moves to stand right in front of him. “Okay…remember when you got upset at me and Diane, a few days ago?”

“I’m hardly likely to forget now, am I?” 

Vic looks at him, carefully tucks some hair behind her ear. “You _do_ know, don’t you – that it didn’t happen like you said?”

He could really do without airing this all out now. It’s like flicking a scab and leaving the wound raw all over again. “I know that you and Diane didn’t leave me out deliberately,” he manages to say. Of course, deliberate or not, that doesn’t change the end result. 

“No – that’s what I _mean_. That’s not how it was. _At all_ ,” Vic says, strangely intense. 

Robert frowns at her. “Vic, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know. I know you don’t.” Her eyes are like hazel searchlights, sweeping over his face. “And that’s why I think we should have a proper talk when I get back. Okay?”

“All…right?” Robert says slowly. It’s not like talking about it is going to _change_ anything, after all. But Vic seems a bit more herself when he agrees. More relaxed.

“Good,” she says, and nods. She smiles at him. “Great. Well – I’d really better go before” –

The door opens and a second later Adam sticks his head in. “Babe – are you coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute,” she calls, flapping her hand at him.

She turns back to Robert. “I do love you, you know,” she says suddenly. “I mean, God knows why, but” –

“The spa treatments?” he offers.

“Probably.” She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, come here.”

She wraps her arms around him. Bemused, Robert rests his chin against the top of her head and hugs back.

*****

He texts Aaron – _Coast is clear_ – even though there’s no way Aaron’s going to show up any earlier than that evening.

Still, already, he feels anticipation fizz in the pit of his stomach.

*****

“Are you expecting World War III to break out this weekend or something?” Carly asks, as she rings up his purchases in the shop. “I mean, there’s stocking up – and there’s hoarding. And I think you may have crossed that line.”

“There’s also ‘making conversation’ and ‘sticking your nose in’,” Robert says. “But don’t worry - start practicing now, and I’m sure you’ll eventually learn to tell the difference.”

*****

He stocks the fridge.

He has a shower.

He sticks the TV on.

In between all these things he finds himself pacing – around the sofa, or the landing upstairs. Going into the bathroom or the kitchen or his bedroom, just to wander back out again almost immediately. The house feels smaller than usual.

It gets late. And then later. It’s dark outside. He sends Aaron one _Where are you?_ text, and then another.

It’s like being frozen – even as the thought that Aaron’s changed his mind starts to fill his head, drip by slow caustic drip, he can’t make himself stop waiting, body tense on the sofa, ears listening for the smallest sound.

When the knock finally comes, relief fireworks through him, jittering sparks that get him moving, hand reaching out to open the door. 

Aaron’s on the other side, shifting from foot and looking over his shoulder at the dark, deserted street. He’s got a small backpack dangling from his hand – the same one he brought to the Parkview. Robert stands aside, and with a last glance around, Aaron walks inside.

The sound of the door as Robert closes it seems loud in the silence. Triumphant. “You made it,” he says. “…eventually.”

Aaron makes a face. “Yeah, sorry. Got cornered by Paddy. Talked my ear off about some…cat or something.” He thinks about it. “Or Rhona, maybe. It wan’t exactly clear. Took me ages to get away.”

“It’s all right. No harm done,” Robert says, because Aaron’s here now. He takes a second to just appreciate it, Aaron standing out against this new setting – next to the staircase, near the coats and the yellow painted wall. He looks back at Robert, shoulders set.

“So,” he says, motioning with his backpack. “Are we doing this or what?”

Robert grins. “Flattering – but you can take it easy. There’s no rush, remember?” He reaches out, though it’s only to take the bag from Aaron’s hand and let it drop by the foot of the stairs. “D’you want a drink?”

Aaron smiles a bit, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Yeah. Go on.”

They end up in the sitting room, empty cans spread out around them, while on the telly, Johnny Depp slowly pontificates about playing dress up and visiting sick kids, before Benedict Cumberbatch gamely imitates otters to the sound of riotous applause.

Aaron’s head leans back against the sofa, eyelids half-lowered. He finally looks comfortable, relaxed. But then, he should do. Robert looks at him, propping himself on an elbow. 

“It’s a bit weird,” he says.

Aaron turns toward him. “What is? This?” He gestures between them.

“No, I meant…that this is the first time I’ve seen you here,” he says, just thinking aloud. “Adam’s your best mate – you should be here all the time.”

“Suppose we see enough of each other at work.” Aaron shrugs.

“Yeah, it’s not like you go for drinks and hang out together _after_ work every other day.”

Aaron studies him, eyes travelling over Robert’s face. “What does it matter, anyway? I’m here now.”

“Yeah. You are,” he agrees, already leaning in.

They kiss on the sofa as the studio audience claps and shrieks, and Robert presses Aaron back against the cushions, a hand sliding up his thigh. The whole night stretches in front of them, and he smiles into the kiss.

Minutes later, when everything’s devolved into heavy breathing, the soft sounds of mouths meeting and parting, and the shift of bodies and clothing, pressing close and then closer – Aaron puts a hand on Robert’s shoulder, his hip, and pushes him back. He squeezes his eyes closed for just a second, fists smoothing along his legs, coming back to himself – and when Robert stretches out his hand again, he moves off the sofa and back several steps.

“What?” Robert demands. 

“I’m not getting my kit off in my best mate’s living room,” Aaron informs him.

“No?” Very deliberately, Robert gets to his feet, sliding his hands around Aaron’s middle. He pulls one back and delivers a short, satisfying smack to Aaron’s arse. “You’d best get upstairs then.”

For all his talk, Aaron’s purple hoodie gets discarded by the door of the living room, while Robert’s blue jumper ends up tossed over the stair railing.

*****

He gets Aaron stripped and laid out on his twin bed and he does what he’d meant to last night, sucking him off with a kind of thorough, painstaking slowness, pulling off every so often to grin and lay detouring kisses around Aaron’s navel and his thighs – until finally, Aaron’s swearing at him, his hands twisting in Robert’s hair.

Aaron gets his own back later, making Robert come with the press of his fingers and the point of his tongue. 

Afterwards, squashed up together and sleepy, Robert lets half-formed thoughts of expansive mattresses and expensive bedding drift through his mind like a daydream. Some other time. 

This is all right for now.

His hand is resting on Aaron’s stomach, and his fingers slowly stroke over skin – smooth, and then scarred. He hooks his chin over Aaron’s shoulder and asks, “You ever gonna tell me about these?”

Aaron is still for a moment, before he shifts, carefully and awkwardly turning under Robert’s arm until they’re face to face. In the dark, and up close, all he can see is the glitter of Aaron’s eyes.

“Ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it?” he says.

Robert doesn’t say anything, just nudges forward a bit until their noses touch. Aaron’s fingers creep up the inside of Robert’s forearm. “Not right now,” he says.

Robert closes his eyes. 

Some other time.

*****

He wakes late the next morning, with Aaron’s head mashed up against his shoulder.

He takes a deep breath, and releases it. He feels warm, body pleasantly wrung out. “You awake?”

“No,” Aaron says halfway between a word and a groan. He doesn’t open his eyes, and he buries his face more in Robert’s shoulder. Robert can feel the scratch of his stubble, the betraying twitch of his mouth. “So shut it.”

“Come on.” Aaron’s got one arm slung halfway across his chest, fingers curled up loosely. Robert picks up his hand, bringing it to his face. He kisses the palm, then slides Aaron’s hand down his body, down under the covers, until it’s between his legs.

Aaron snorts and raises his head. “This your idea of a wake-up call?”

Robert hums, his fingers closing around Aaron’s and encouraging him to move. “Well, I _was_ gonna make you breakfast…but maybe you should work up an appetite first.”

Aaron stares blearily at him. “It’s way too early for this.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“I meant the stupid pick up lines.”

Robert twists himself up, until he’s on his knees over Aaron, fists on either side of Aaron’s head. He leans down. “You’ll just have to find some way to shut me up then, won’t you?”

*****

By the time they get around to eating, neither of them bothers getting properly dressed. They tear into sausage sandwiches at the kitchen table, Aaron in last night’s boxer shorts and t-shirt, hair messy, while Robert has on pajama bottoms under his dressing gown.

“There’s orange juice in the fridge, if you want any,” Robert tells him.

Aaron shakes his head and mops the last piece of his bread through some ketchup. “I’m fine.” After he finishes chewing, he sits back in his chair. His feet move under the table, accidentally grazing against Robert’s. His eyes look at Robert, and then almost immediately away, as if he’s afraid of getting burned. “That was – all right,” he says, eventually.

Robert smirks at him. “I told you. Two nights – four star service.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Aaron tells him, dry.

They take their tea in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa, desultorily chatting and flicking through the channels. Robert stretches his arm across the back of the cushion, fingers playing at the back of Aaron’s neck as forensic scientists race against time to track down a serial killer.

It ends up like last night – programme ultimately abandoned in favour of lying on Robert’s bed upstairs. There’s something incredibly teenage about it, the empty house, the twin bed, the two of them being alone – and how much that feels like getting away with something. 

They don’t even get undressed – Robert still has his pajama bottoms on, while Aaron’s t-shirt is rucked up slightly. The flash of skin it reveals is perversely thrilling in that same borderline-adolescent way. Breathless, Robert kisses him hard, his whole body a pounding pulp of adrenaline and want, and slides his hand down the back of Aaron’s boxers.

Downstairs, there’s a jingle and a muffled thump – as someone opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno if it needs explanation but obviously in this story, Debbie's wedding wasn't interrupted by helicopter crash...but still turned out pretty crappy. Neither was Adam embroiled in paternity shenanigans with Vanessa...but Kirin still had some plot-convenient issues.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told’ja – it’s a Sugcess. A Suckden…something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...a long chapter. I guess it's more like 2/3 chapters glommed together, really. But it came to that point - you know, in an ongoing story, where you're reading and you don't know whether the person writing it has an actual end goal in sight, or if you're going to be reading chapter 398 of a neverending saga? That moment :) Maybe this would read better as a couple of chapters, but I wanted to not keep dicking anyone-who-is-still-reading around and get to an actual penultimate moment. 
> 
> (Actually, this was going to end at an even later moment...but I really, really wanted to be done with this particular chapter)
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much to the people who read/liked scraps of this on tumblr :) And to the anon(s?) who mentioned/asked about this story - I hope you like it!

It’s kneejerk – his hand whips out of Aaron’s shorts and he scrambles off the twin bed before there’s so much as a coherent thought in his head. 

He stares at Aaron as below them, the door clicks closed. _Shit_.

“I thought you said Vic and Adam weren’t back until Sunday,” Aaron hisses, face fixed and sounding as thrown as Robert feels.

“They’re not.” 

A voice calls, “Hullo?” and Robert can feel his eyes going wide. _Shit_. 

“Yeah!” he manages to call back. “Just a second!” He grabs his dressing gown off the floor. His mouth is dry. _Shit_.

“ _Andy_? In’t he supposed to be in France?” 

“Well, obviously not if he’s downstairs,” he snaps, low-voiced. He takes a breath. It doesn’t really help. “Right. Stay here – and get dressed. I’ll sort this.” 

Aaron picks up his jeans, but doesn’t seem in any hurry to put them on. “What are you gonna say to him?”

“I don’t know – I’ll think of something,” he says, shrugging into his dressing gown. 

Aaron just looks at him. “Guessin’ it’s not going to be the truth, then.”

“What d’you take me for? Look, I’ll try and get him out of the house – then you can leg it,” Robert says, with another ‘ _go on_ ’ motion at the fabric in Aaron’s arms.

He knots the belt of his dressing gown as he hurries down the stairs, stopping on the third step from the bottom – where Andy is standing, duffel bag by his feet. Aaron’s backpack is still where Robert let it drop last night, slumped against the wall, and it makes him wince internally, but he pretends as if it’s not there. Andy doesn’t seem to have clocked it, anyway. 

“Y’alright? I wasn’t expecting you back yet.” His voice comes out slightly breathless, and _shit_. His discarded jumper is still slung over the railing, one inside-out sleeve dangling toward the bottom step. He ignores that too. “Thought you were supposed to let us know when you were coming home?”

“I did. Texted Vic a couple of hours ago.” Andy digs his hands into his pockets. “Where is she?”

“Leeds. Went off with Adam for the weekend.”

The set of his shoulders loosens – a little. “Oh.”

It’s then that it hits Robert – the defensiveness of his stance. The fact that, even though it _feels_ like it, Andy probably hasn’t shown up here purely for the purpose of catching him out. He says, testing, “So how’d things go with Debbie?”

Andy shakes his head, looks away. “Don’t, Robert.”

“That good, eh?” 

He doesn’t say anything else…which says everything, really, and Robert doesn’t even have to try for wry sympathy when he suggests, “Sounds like you could use a drink. Why don’t we head to the pub – first round’s on me.”

Andy’s eyes flick over him, a slight frown on his face. Robert is suddenly, uncomfortably aware that it’s five o’ clock in the day and all he’s wearing is a robe and pajama pants. 

But – “You’re not exactly dressed for it,” is all that Andy says.

“Yeah, well, just give me two minutes.” Robert’s already turning, but Andy’s voice halts him, “Thanks, but – I’d really rather not talk about it right now.”

_Shit_. His voice ratchets up several decibels, insistent instead of persuasive, “Okay, so we’ll get smashed instead – all talking strictly optional. How about that?”

“Really, Rob – I’m fine,” Andy says, with an impatient duck of his head – _shit_ – as he moves past the staircase and toward the – _shit, shit_ – sitting room.

“Andy, just hang on a” – he says as he barrels down the remaining stairs, half-leaping over the black duffel bag and twisting his body to follow Andy – who has stopped dead in the doorway of the sitting room. 

It’s not _much_ …TV still on, two empty mugs set down on the floor – but something about it obviously makes everything _click_ into place in Andy’s mind, because he turns back to face Robert, raking him from dressing gown covered chest to bare feet with new eyes. 

“Well. No prizes for guessing how you’ve been spending your weekend,” he says finally.

“What? I don’t know what you’re” – 

Andy stoops. Straightens and offers Robert – _shitshitshit_ – the purple hoodie he’s just picked off the floor. “Aaron’s, I take it,” he says. He sounds, if anything, matter of fact about it. Oddly, it makes him seem more judgmental, instead of less.

Robert just stares down, but Andy pushes the hoodie toward him until he has no choice but to accept it, like an admission of guilt, balling the fabric between his fingers.

Andy _knows_. He’s standing there right now, right in front of Robert, right this second, _knowing_.

He licks dry lips. “Andy,” he says, “Andy – I get how this looks, but I can explain” – 

Andy looks at him. “ _Robert_ ,” he says, and the tired way his name comes out, stops the words in Robert’s throat. “I don’t really care, to be honest.”

As he brushes past he says, “Just – tidy up when you’re done, would you?”

*****

Upstairs, Aaron’s sat on the bed, one foot jigging against the floor. He stands as soon as Robert opens the bedroom door, demanding, “Well? What’d he say? What’d you tell him?”

He’s wearing last night’s clothes, t-shirt, jeans, unlaced shoes – everything except, of course, the _fucking_ hoodie, which Robert thrusts at him. “Keep it _down_ , would you! Here.”

Aaron takes it, though he makes no move to put it on, instead stepping even nearer as he asks, “So? What happened?”

“What _happened_?” Robert repeats, voice shaking as he tries to control his own volume. “I’ll tell you _what’s happened_ – only Andy showing up when he’s not supposed to, without so much as a flaming _text_.” All right, he’d told Vic, apparently – but it’s not like that had fucking _helped_ , had it? 

Robert can feel it burning and churning through his body – resentful panicky anger at being _in_ this position. Directed toward _Vic_ , who hadn’t fucking thought to pass on the message. Toward _Andy_ – no longer in France, where he’s meant to be, but here in Keepers Cottage, _knowing_ things about Robert. 

( _Thinking_ he knows things).

And directed toward _Aaron_ , crowded into his space, too close and too much, eyes so intent on Robert’s face that Robert finds his own gaze skittering away, swerving toward Aaron’s ear, the corner of his jaw, his hairline, as he finishes, “That enough for you? Or do you need _more_?”

He tries to calm his breathing, and fails, and it just serves to spike his irritation further. 

“Do…” Aaron clears his throat and tries again, “D’you want to talk ab” – before Robert interrupts, forcefully shutting _that_ idea down. “What I _want_ is to _fix it_.” 

He can feel the blood buzzing in his fingertips, and he shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believable. He says a week, a week _at least_ , and then he turns up like…like…” 

He meets Aaron’s gaze again, and stops. “You have to go. _Now_. I need some time to sort this out.”

“Time to think up more lies, you mean,” Aaron says – his shift from awkward attempted comfort into stiff aggrievement abrupt, but complete. It’s like a stinging splash of vinegar over the thin, raw scratches left after dealing with Andy – and hasn’t Robert got _enough_ on his fucking plate right now? The _last_ thing he needs is an unasked for dollop of Aaron’s mardy-arsing about shit just for the sake of it.

“Is that supposed to be helpful? Because – newsflash – _it’s not_.” He has to swallow before he speaks. He waits. A short, sharp movement of his hands as Aaron continues to just stand there. “Well? What are you still hanging about for?”

“Nothing.” Aaron looks him up and down. “Obviously.” 

_Fuck_. Robert pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages to grit out a semi-conciliatory, “Look – I’ll call you later, yeah? _After_ I’ve fixed things.”

Fingers on the doorhandle, Aaron doesn’t turn back to look at him. He shrugs, “Whatever.”

Something in Robert’s stomach flinches at the sound of his feet on the stairs as he leaves. Not obtrusively loud, but. 

Definite. Undeniable.

_Shit_.

*****

He ends up cleaning the kitchen and the sitting room – plates and cups washed, cushions adjusted, table cleared of every crumb. He picks up his jumper from the stair-rail, and throws it in the wash. Redresses his bed.

It hardly takes any time at all to make it seem like Aaron was never even there. Though the ease it takes to clear the house of his presence feels more like a trick than anything reassuring. It makes Robert frown and scan each room again – and then again. For something overlooked. Proof. 

Not that it matters. He knows what really happened.

And so does Andy.

*****

It’s a long night.

Twice, he gets up and walks the narrow strip of floor outside his room, pausing outside Andy’s bedroom – quiet, but…come on, it’s just the two of them in the house – Andy’s got to hear him. 

His fingers clench. His palms are hot. The bedroom door stays shut, and he doesn’t take that last step forward to knock. Instead, he ends up continuing on to the bathroom. 

Back in his own room, he lies down on his twin bed, weirdly conscious of where the edges of the mattress are in relation to his feet, his head, his elbows. It feels far more constrained than it had at any point last night. He digs his mobile out of his pocket. Stares at the first name in his contacts, before frowning and letting it drop onto the mattress.

A few minutes later, he blows out a breath and fumbles for it again – only to hang up when the ringing stops and it goes to voicemail. _Fine. Just…fucking fine_. He stares up at the ceiling. He’s not claustrophobic, but it feels like it’s pressing down on him. 

It’s a long night.

*****

By the next morning, his resentment has hardened, glazed over with defiance, and he greets the ongoing stonewall of Aaron’s voicemail with an impatient, “Oh we’re still doing this, are we? _Aaron_ , come on.” He lowers his voice a little, admits, “Look, I know I didn’t handle things brilliantly yesterday…but cut me some slack here. It’s not my fault Andy decided to gatecrash.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Just – do me a favour and call me back when you get this.”

He paces around the room for a few minutes while his mobile doesn’t ring. Eventually, he goes for a shower, pointedly leaving his phone behind on the duvet. The way his luck’s been lately, bringing a handheld mobile device into the bathroom just begs for a scenario that ends either in accidental electrocution, or with him playing a more humiliating version of hook-a-duck starring the toilet pan and several hundred pounds worth of waterlogged electronics. Robert can’t actually decide which would be worse right now – and he has zero desire to find out firsthand.

Andy’s door still seems silently disapproving as he walks past. _No prizes for guessing_ \- echoes inside his head, but he just keeps on moving. 

The screen of his mobile is still blank a half an hour later, when he’s back in his bedroom, dried and dressed. 

“All right, you’ve made your point,” he tells Aaron’s voicemail. “Whatever it is. So can we drop the silent treatment now?”

He stares down. The mobile in his hand refuses to ring. Fails to vibrate with so much as an inadequate _u ok?_ text, which, considering that yesterday Robert was outed to his brother _via hoodie_ , is really the least Aaron could do.

Yeah, all right, he gets that Aaron’s hacked off. But it’s not like Robert’s any more thrilled about real life, aka Andy, barging in to fuck things up. 

_Fine_ , he texts. _If that’s how you want to play it_. 

Non-message received. 

In the quiet kitchen, he makes himself a sandwich. Sits and eats every bite, because the one thing he’s definitely not doing is waiting around for Andy to come down from on high and pronounce his judgment. Fuck Andy. The whole thing is his fault, anyway. 

The sandwich doesn’t taste like anything, and his ears are still attuned to the slightest sound from upstairs. Fuck Andy for _that_ , too. 

It’s just as Robert is setting his plate down to drain that he hears the heavy thump of feet. _Here goes_. Finally. He turns from the sink and doesn’t let his face jerk the way it wants to when Andy enters the kitchen.

Andy, for his part, gives a half-glance in his direction but doesn’t say anything, like he’d be quite happy to pretend Robert doesn’t exist right now. 

In response, Robert says, “Sleep okay? There’s food, if you’re hungry.” He makes a show of leaning back against the sink. His toes cramp inside his shoes.

Andy still doesn’t say anything, but there’s a pause (just long enough for Robert to notice) before he moves toward the fridge. It’s a small but definite victory.

Or at least it is until Andy opens the fridge door and makes a startled sort of noise. “No kidding.” He looks from the packed shelves to Robert. “Were you planning an orgy or summat?”

The bitterness is sudden, a blinding rush of fight-or-flight adrenaline.

“Ever think of starting a comedy routine? Material like that, you’ll be packing them in.” He folds his arms tight over his chest. “Maybe Debbie would’ve left you stay if you’d just cracked a few jokes.”

Andy’s jaw tenses, but he continues assembling a meal for himself – picking through a spread that Robert hadn’t put on for him…and mentally pawing through Robert’s private life at the same time. Synchro-fucking-nicity. Not that Andy could _spell_ that, if you asked him. 

This isn’t how his weekend was supposed to end. Robert looks away. 

“Was it always blokes with you?” Andy asks eventually. It’s just a question, curious, but not combative – and _fuck_. Of course. It’s not enough for Andy to _know_ , he wants the _heart-to-heart_ as well. The formulaic _earnestness_ of it all eats through him like acid.

Robert can feel his shoulders hunching. But he’s committed to brazening it out now, and pride won’t let him back down. “What do _you_ think?” he shoots back.

“I _think_ it’s not like you’ve ever bothered being upfront about it before, so how should I know?” Andy says, like he’s _owed_. Like Robert’s going to start recounting one-night stands like sins or something, just because Andy’s incapable of joining the fucking dots. 

Well, _fuck_ that. 

Yeah, okay, he’s caught Robert out, but it’s not like Andy came back and found him setting fires and torturing cats. It’s really none of his _business_ – and all right, that’s an evasion, but it’s also the fucking _truth_. Robert opens his mouth to tell him exactly that – and more. Because if he’s going down, at the very least, he’s dragging Andy with him. 

“It’s not a crime, you know,” he hears himself say instead. “Finding someone attractive. I hope no one makes _you_ feel like it is, when it’s your turn to move on.”

It’s not the tack he’d meant to take. In the silence that follows, Andy looks as surprised as he feels. He opens his mouth. Blinks at Robert. “That’s not…I – didn’t mean it like…” 

He makes himself look back, defiantly holding Andy’s eyes until slowly, something eases in Andy’s face – and he moves, strangely careful as he turns and leans up next to Robert by the sink. 

“Bit late for all that now, anyway.” A sidelong glance before he confides, “For me, at least.”

“What?” He frowns at Andy’s profile. “You mean _you_ …? _You’ve_ already been with someone? _You_?” 

Andy makes a face. Throws back, “Not a crime, is it? Or does that just apply when we’re talking about you?”

“No, I meant it. I’m – just surprised, that’s all.” He can’t stop himself from asking, “…who was it?”

“Tracy.”

His forehead scrunches up. “ _Who_?”

“Tracy Shankley. Blonde…she works in the B’n’B. It’s not important.” 

“ _You’re_ the one who brought it up.” 

The microwave dings, and Andy goes to retrieve his plate, setting it down on the table and sitting – a clear dodge. 

Robert persists. “And just when _was_ this – you and Tracy No-one?”

“A while back,” Andy’s fork herds a piece of rasher around the plate, but he makes no move to bring it to his mouth. “Not that long after Katie died.” He glances up. “It wasn’t important then, either.”

_Wow_. No punch pulling there. Robert sucks a breath in through his teeth – in vague, amused sympathy for the blondely insignificant Tracy Shankley. “Right.” 

_Not important_ – he gets that, since Katie’s been Andy’s gold standard since pretty much day one. That’s not the same thing as ‘not worth _mentioning_.’ Even if Andy’s not in a place to appreciate the finer distinctions, Robert would have thought Vic or Diane might have clued him in. He draws out a chair and sits. “No-one tells me anything.”

“Yeah, because _you’re_ always so honest and upfront.”

And just like that, they’ve come full circle. Robert closes his eyes for a second, even though he should have been expecting it. It’s not like Andy’s ever been in the habit of letting him off the hook – why would he start now? 

“Andy, listen…” he starts, shifting on his seat. “This thing with Aaron…it’s really not a big deal. Like you and Tracy Whatever. It’s – nothing worth getting worked up about.”

“Meaning you want me to keep my mouth shut,” Andy deduces - and why, _hello again_ , air of vaguely disgusted sanctimony. Robert grits his teeth.

“ _Meaning_ it’s no-one else’s business.”

Head cocked to the side, Andy says, “But you _are_ seeing each other?”

Robert’s heart thumps. _**Seeing** each other_. Like – 

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it _that_.” 

“What would you call it then?”

“I don’t know…letting off a bit of steam?” His hands shape indecipherable twists in the air. “Oh don’t look at me like that. Chrissie’s chucked me…and it’s not like Emmerdale’s the entertainment capital of the UK or anything. So what if me and Aaron have – hooked up a few times? We’re both adults, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.”

“I never said you were. I was only askin’. Y’know, you keep saying it’s not a crime, but you’re the only one acting like it _is_.”

“Funny – you didn’t seem all that accepting yesterday.”

“Coming from the person who wouldn’t even admit Aaron was _here_ ,” Andy counters. “Sorry if I didn’t feel like listening to you lying your head off just to be polite. Not – just then.”

“Why?” Robert studies him. “Because of Debbie?” 

Unexpectedly, Andy gives in. “…yeah. Because of Debbie.” It’s like trying to break down a door, only to have it open wide at the very first shove. 

There’s something in his voice or posture. Hard to pinpoint but inexorable – warring with Robert’s resistance, forcing him to ask with grudging sympathy, “What happened?”

Andy starts to mash his beans into an orange paste. “I was gonna sort everything, you know. Spend time with the kids, talk things out with her. Fix it all.”

“And let me guess – she wouldn’t let you in the door?”

A half-smile. “Actually, it went really well. At first. She even made up the sofa for me. And the kids…” he stops for a moment. “It was so good to see them. It’s weird, you think ‘it’s been months – what if everything’s different? What if _they’re_ different?’ But then you get there, and see them, and – turns out, none of that matters. Because – they’re still your kids, no matter what.”

Robert looks at him. “And then?”

“And then…I went and messed it up, didn’t I?” He sighs. “The second night – they go to bed, and it’s just me and Debbie, clearing up, and – I tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That she can’t keep running away from her problems. That it’s not gonna solve anything and if anyone would know that, it’d be me. I told her she needed to come home. That – that’s what the kids needed as well.” 

Robert winces, because he can see where this is headed. “Bit full on.”

“Yeah – that’s what she thought too. Called me a hypocrite and told me to get out. I mean, she said more than that, obviously, but that was the general message.”

The tines of the fork scrape across the plate, thin and unpleasant as Andy continues, “It’s stupid, but – the whole way there, it kept going through my head. How proud Katie’d be, to see me getting my life back on track. Then, on the way back…it hit me. I should be glad that she _can’t_ see me. I mean, face it, by now she’d be proper sick of watching me muck everything up.”

“Andy – come on, don’t do this. Things didn’t go according to plan – fair enough. But you can’t put all the blame on yourself.”

“Who should I be blaming instead then, eh? I should never have gone off on Debbie like that. I had my chance – _one_ chance – and I blew it.”

“Okay, yeah, you could have taken a more tactful approach,” Robert acknowledges, “– but when it comes down to it, Jack and Sarah are _your_ kids too. She can’t just stop you from seeing them. Wanting to be part of their lives…that’s a good thing, and you _should_ be fighting for it.” 

He reaches out. “I’ll help – if you want. Money, lawyers…whatever it is you need.”

Andy stares down at Robert’s hand on his arm before looking up. “You’d really do that?”

“Well, I’m not offering just to make conversation.” 

He considers it. “Thanks. I mean it,” he says. “But…the last thing Jack and Sarah need right now is me and Debbie at each other’s throats. They’ve been through enough already.”

His fingers squeeze Andy’s arm before he lets go. Tells him, “You’re a good dad.”

Andy gives him a ghost of a smile. “Trying, anyway.” 

He looks down at the table, then up at Robert. The line of his jaw is set. “I’m not gonna say anything, you know. About you and Aaron. In case you’re worried.”

Relief surges through him, and it’s his turn to offer a quiet, “Thanks.”

Andy doesn’t make a big deal of it, just stands and picks up his plate, as if to indicate the subject is closed as far as he’s concerned. 

Robert stays sitting at the kitchen table, turning over what’s just happened. 

Well. 

That was…

…relatively painless. 

Okay, not as painless as Andy _not_ coming home while he was mid-sex act with Aaron, but – as complete disasters go, it could have been way worse. This…this feels almost like equilibrium, after the shaky ground of yesterday. And, most importantly, Andy’s promised to keep it all to himself. 

To a background of plate scraping, and running water, Robert taps out a quick message – 

_Sorted Andy, by the way. In case you were worried_.

Aaron’s continued blank-screened indifference indicates otherwise. Robert sets his phone down again.

“I’m sorry.” 

He jumps. When he turns his head, Andy’s still standing by the sink, but watching him. “For wrecking your weekend,” he clarifies.

“I told you – it doesn’t matter.” He plays it off, scrunching his face and voice in confusion.

“Still,” Andy says. He keeps looking at Robert, steady – uncomfortable. “I meant it, you know. What I said yesterday. Not – the way I said it, but…I really _don’t_ care who you – well. It’s your life, is what I mean. It’s nothing to me, or anyone else.”

His mouth twists, because of course. Of _course_ Andy would feel like it’s his duty to stumble through some sad, embarrassing attempt at a coming out speech. Typical. Like _that’s_ what Robert needs here.

“Yeah, well, no need to break out the rainbow bunting just yet,” he says, and he can hear the edge in his voice. “Maybe you should save it for someone who’s actually gay.”

He turns back, even though that only leaves the option of engaging with his silent mobile and the tabletop. He taps his phone against the wooden surface, letting his fingers slide down the sides, then flips the phone over to do it again. Andy’s still watching him – he can feel it, an itch between his shoulderblades – but he doesn’t look up.

When Andy finally does break the stalemate, it’s not what Robert expects. He hears him shift on his feet, breath escaping in a wry-sounding sigh. “Look at us, ey? I reckon neither of us got what we wanted this weekend.”

Robert makes no comment, and after a second, Andy pushes off from the sink. 

“All right – this is just pathetic,” he says, voice decisive. He taps Robert on the arm, motioning him to get up. 

“Where are you going?”

“Pub should be open by now – and you promised me a drink, remember?” He waits for Robert by the door. 

_The pub._

_Aaron_.

It’s split-second – thoughts forming, and then colliding with each other just as quickly, side-swiping each other into a jarring pile-up.

He doesn’t want ( _wants_ ) to see Aaron right now.

It might give him an opportunity to fix things. (Except he’s not fixing _anything_ – not with Andy sat next to him). 

And Aaron probably won’t even be there. (Although, then again, he _might_ ).

Robert clenches his phone in his hand, body ground to a standstill midway between _yes_ and _no_. 

And then – 

“Come on,” Andy says. “I don’t know about you, but after the week I’ve had, I could do with a drink.”

All right. Well.

Robert supposes he can’t argue with _that_.

*****

He scans the bar when they enter – but there’s no sign of Aaron. No dark-clad back hunched over by the counter, no face scowling at him from the corners. He feels another whole body shudder of relief – followed immediately by a twinge of disappointment.

Chas isn’t there either, so at least he gets his drink without the double-edged comments and the burning stares. 

Diane shows admirable restraint. She welcomes Andy back but waits until she’s setting two pints on the bar before leaning in toward him to ask, “So, how did it g” – 

This is the point at which Jimmy and Nicola King argue their way over to the counter.

“– telling you, it’s a chronic condition!” Jimmy says.

Nicola mutters “ _You’re_ a chronic condition,” before turning to Diane and demanding, “Alcohol – and lots of it, thanks.”

Andy takes advantage of the momentary confusion, picking up his pint and nudging Robert to follow. The place isn’t packed or anything, but there’s a decent smattering of people, and they end up sitting just one table away from – oh perfect, Paddy Kirk and his wife. He frowns at Robert as they pull out their chairs. Continues frowning as they sit down. Frowns as he watches Robert take a sip of his drink, as if he suspects Robert of having flavoured it with puppy blood.

Apparently, in true ‘the show must go on’ style, Chas has gifted the role of overprotective mother hen to the understudy. Just – great. Fucking great.

Robert tries to ignore him, and tells Andy, “Look, try not to get too down about what happened. Give Debbie a couple of days to cool off…you never know.”

“Yeah. She’ll probably come running in no time,” Andy says, looking down at his pint. His mouth twists. “Cheers, eh?” He sighs and clinks their glasses together, before drinking. 

Over at the other table, Paddy’s wife says, “You know, not that a pub lunch isn’t nice, but I was sort of hoping we could try that new place. You know, the one I was talking about?”

“Sorry, what?” Paddy finally tears his eyes away.

She looks at him and musters a clear ‘making the best of things’ smile (probably a well-worn expression, considering her spouse). “Never mind. Here’s – fine. Really.”

“Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?” he agrees, attention already velcroing back to Robert, who takes another mouthful of his beer and watches Paddy’s wife blink once, twice – and then return to her chips and peas and the quiet desperation that _has_ to go hand-in-hand with being Paddy Kirk’s wife.

Over to his right, he hears Andy swallow, then put down his glass. The hum of conversation around them seems lethargic, Sunday-subdued. Robert slumps down a bit in his chair. This _really_ isn’t how his weekend was supposed to end. Over at the bar, Diane catches his eye and smiles over at them, gaze lingering. 

“She’s going to want to know about France. Vic, too,” Andy notes.

“So? What are you gonna tell” – the pub doors swish open and out of the corner of his eye, Robert sees Aaron walk in, “– them.”

“I dunno. The truth, I suppose,” he hears Andy say. He nods and reaches for his pint, risking another glance to the side. 

Aaron’s wearing running gear, proper kitted out – black shorts over running tights, grey t-shirt under a zip-up jacket. There’s maybe the slightest hitch in his stride when he notices Robert, but other than that, he doesn’t react at all, moving quickly past and heading for – 

“Aaron? Aaron – hey, over here!” Paddy calls, jerking his head and gesturing him over with his right hand as if Aaron’s short-sighted. With another of those near-imperceptible pauses, Aaron gives in and swerves toward them.

“Y’alright, Paddy? Rhona,” he says, shifting from foot to foot. 

“Yeah, good. Good. Fine.” A pause, “What about you?”

Aaron shrugs. “Fine.” 

“Well, you’re certainly motivated,” Rhona says. From here, Robert can see that the neck of Aaron’s t-shirt is dark with sweat, his hair flattened onto his forehead.

“Right, and that’s great – I’m not sayin’ it’s not, just…I hope that you’re not…you know…not _over_ doing it,” Paddy says, with all the concern of someone who has never overdone anything in his life, except possibly the sticky toffee pudding. 

“I’m fine,” Aaron says again. Robert can _feel_ him not looking, gaze not budging any further than Paddy and Rhona’s table – while over to his right, Andy won’t _stop_ , darting glances at Robert every couple of seconds and not saying anything, silence building up like the air inside a balloon. Robert drinks and feigns nonchalance. He doesn’t care. Let Andy watch him not caring. 

“Well, that’s good,” Paddy says. “Glad to hear it.”

The way Aaron says, “Yeah,” perfectly communicates his waning level of endurance for this conversation. He looks over his shoulder. “I’m gonna” – 

Too quickly, Paddy says, “D’you want to sit down?”

“What?”

_Fuck_. 

“Or I could go out back with you, if you’d prefer. Rhona doesn’t mind – do you, Rhona?”

Paddy’s wife stares at him. “Oh no – of course not. I mean, when Pearl offered to take Leo for a couple of hours so that we could spend some time together, this is _exactly_ what I was imagining.”

Paddy offers Aaron a weak smile and a, “See?” but Aaron, as a person capable of reading basic social cues, says, “Nah, you’re all right. I’ll see you later.”

He turns to leave, and Robert feels it like an electric shock when Aaron’s eyes skim over him – but it’s quick and impersonal like Robert’s just some bloke sitting in a bar, his face blank and uncommunicative as Robert’s phone screen. Right. He stares down at the half-drunk pint in his hand. 

At least this is almost over. 

Beside him, Andy clears his throat in awkward prelude to conversation. But at this stage, Robert is more than ready for something, _anything_ , to burst the overstretched silence between them.

“Aaron, hang on.”

…except _that_. 

Aaron, Paddy and Rhona look over, startled. 

“D’you fancy a drink?” Andy calls, with a jerk of his chin toward his own and Robert’s glasses.

Both Aaron and Paddy stare at him in disbelief. Robert can’t even guess at the expression on his own face. Him, Aaron and Andy – _having a pint together_. The idea makes his stomach twist. No-one’s _that_ fucking nonchalant.

“Thanks, but I’m just gonna go grab a shower,” Aaron says, eyes flicking toward Robert again, guarded. It’s the right response to Andy’s question, the only possible response, but it doesn’t smooth things over. The knot in Robert’s stomach tightens, if anything. 

He wants to pretend like nothing’s happened between him and Aaron. 

(He doesn’t want Aaron to look at him like nothing ever _had_ ). 

He wants to sort this, get back to normal. (He just…doesn’t want to admit to anyone else that there’s anything there _to_ sort). 

Meanwhile Andy says, “Come on – just one drink,” then firmer, “I’m not taking no for an answer. Pint?” 

“Well, that’s sorted then,” Paddy’s wife says, swooping briskly into the conversation. “Aaron gets to have a drink with his friends, and _you_ get to tell me why you’re acting so weird today.”

“ _What are you doing_?” Robert mutters, fingers squeezing out a warning on Andy’s forearm as Paddy protests, “I am _not_ – Aaron, would you please tell Rhona I’m not acting weird.”

“Lie, y’mean,” Aaron says, suitably deadpan, if half a beat too slow.

“ _What_?” Andy says in an undertone, “ _I still owe him for telling me about Debbie_.” And he gets to his feet and sidesteps his way behind Rhona’s chair, tapping Aaron on the arm as he passes. 

“You sit down – I’ll bring your drink,” he says, with a jerk of his head toward Robert and the empty chair next to him.

Robert takes another sip, beer sliding down his tightening throat as Aaron makes his way over and sits in Andy’s vacated seat, pulling the chair a couple of inches further to the side as he does so. Robert keeps his fingers splayed loosely around the bottom of the pint glass, oddly more aware of the distance between them than he had been when Aaron’d been standing two tables away. He can feel him breathing, the solid, wary weight of his presence.

“…nothing, really, I promise. Just – stuff,” Paddy Kirk says vaguely at his own table, blinking fast, eyes sweeping over like worried flashlights.

“Enlightening,” his wife says. 

Robert nods at Aaron’s gear. “Been running?” It’s just to make conversation.

“No – fashion statement, innit.”

Appropriately goaded, Robert says, “Phone weighing you down, was it?” 

Aaron just looks at him.

He lowers his voice. “I’m sorry, alright? About everything.” Part of him can’t resist adding, “If you’d actually bothered to call me back, I could’ve told you that earlier.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it _does_ ,” he insists. He can see Andy, heading back from the bar, and manages a hurried, “Can we talk about this? Later?” 

All he gets in return is a sidelong look and a scoff – and then Andy’s there, pulling over a chair from the unoccupied table behind them. He sets a pint down in front of Aaron, eyes curious as they flick between him and Robert. Robert tightens his fingers around his glass. Oh yeah, break out the thumbscrews, because _this_ is going to be fun. 

“Thanks,” Aaron says, raising his glass and taking an awkward gulp.

“It’s nothing. Least I could do, really…considering what you did for me,” he says.

Aaron half nods, takes another drink. “How is Debs? And the kids?”

Andy looks down at the table, and part of Robert feels some satisfaction at watching him twist. Didn’t realise _he_ might have to answer some awkward questions of his own when he was issuing semi self-righteous drink invites, did he?

“She’s – she’s good. They’re good. Yeah. They’re all…doing fine, really.”

Aaron takes this in. “Not coming back anytime soon, then?”

“No.”

The word drops between them like a stone, and Aaron frowns. Says, testing, “But that’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, you can always go over and see them.”

“Yeah,” Andy says. He tries to smile. “Suppose.” 

His mobile starts to ring, and he fumbles it out of his pocket with obvious relief – only to stop dead, staring at the screen.

“What?” Robert says.

Andy looks over at him. He says, like he can’t quite believe it, “…it’s Debbie.”

Robert gestures at the phone in his hands, still ringing. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go on – answer it!”

Andy does, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hello?” Robert can hear the voice on the other end, but not what she says. Not that it’s that hard to guess, since Andy blurts out in response, “No – no, I’m glad you called. Of course, I…” 

He looks around, before pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. “Hang on – just let me find somewhere a bit quieter…”

Andy weaves his way past seated people and empty tables, heading out of the pub. Robert watches him go, and as silence falls over their table, he can hear Paddy’s wife say – 

“– we are talking _the_ biggest I have ever seen in my entire _life_ ” – 

Aaron pushes his beer fractionally further away. Draws it marginally closer. Robert watches the movements of his blunt fingertips. “So, what’d you end up telling him?” he asks finally, with a jerk of his head toward the doors Andy’s just exited through. 

There. Dropped straight into his lap – a chance to make things right. And he takes it – even as he chafes at the upcoming conversation. 

“Oh, come off it, Aaron.” He keeps his voice low. Bad enough Andy knowing his business without bringing Paddy Kirk and his plus-one in on it. “D’you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yeah, actually,” Aaron tells him. “Seeing as – shocker – not all of us are as good at lying as you.”

He tilts his glass, letting the small amount of liquid left crawl up the side. “Yeah, well, turns out no-one’s that good. Not even me.”

Aaron’s head turns. “You mean you…?”

“– told him the truth?” Robert finishes, when it becomes clear that Aaron’s not going to. “Yeah. Well, it’s not like I had that much choice, is it?”

A frowning pause. “You _what_?”

“I had to,” he defends, a harried note creeping into his words. “What was I supposed to say? My bed got a flat and you just popped round to help? Call me crazy, but I don’t think Andy’d have gone for it.”

“Figured you’d have come up with _something_ though,” Aaron says. There’s a line between his eyebrows like this is a trick, and he’s expecting Robert to whip out some catch-all explanation that conveniently keeps Andy in the dark. “You said you sorted it.” 

(Well, it’s good to get confirmation all that radio silence had been a completely deliberate move on Aaron’s part).

“Yeah – I _did_ ,” he says, forceful. “Look, it’s not like he’s gonna go shouting it from the rooftops – he’s promised me he’ll keep it quiet. And yeah, alright, I know that sort of messes up the whole ‘ _just us_ ’ idea, but it’s not _my_ fault Andy barged in.” 

He waits, impatient, for Aaron’s response. 

Which is to blink and ask, again – “You really told him?” 

“D’you want it written in blood or something?” He can’t help it – he throws up his hands, catching sight of some less-than-subtle rubbernecking as he does so. 

With their voices down, and his wife still talking, Paddy can’t hear anything, but right now it’d have to be obvious _from space_ that he and Aaron aren’t getting along, and Paddy looks like he’s seconds away from giving Aaron an _attaboy!_ thumbs up, even as he’s nodding mindlessly along to whatever point his wife’s making. 

It doesn’t improve Robert’s mood. “ _Yes_ , I told Andy – and I’m sorry, all right? Does that make you feel better? Maybe I shouldn’t have – even though I didn’t exactly hear you coming up with any bright ideas at the time…but it’s done now. It’s not like I can change anything. But if you want to be angry about it, fine. You go ahead and waste your time.” He finishes by crossing his arms over his chest, and waits for Aaron to take aim.

Waits.

But – 

“…I’m not angry,” Aaron says. 

It stops Robert in his tracks. Wary, he unfolds his arms. “You’re not?”

Aaron studies him, eyes roaming over his face. “I just – I never thought you’d admit it, that’s all.”

“But you’re _not_ angry,” Robert repeats, to confirm it. “Well then…what are we fighting about?”

Aaron makes a considering face. “Give me a minute.”

Robert stares at him for a split-second before he huffs out a laugh. Searches for a comeback, and says, “Well, you’d better be quick. I mean, otherwise…we might end up _agreeing_. And we can’t have that. God only knows what might happen.” His gaze is drawn to the softening line of Aaron’s mouth, the sweat-dampened curl of his hair. “End of the world, probably.” 

Aaron looks down and shakes his head, but he’s hiding a smile. It’s oddly, unaccountably charming, and a grin steals across Robert’s face as he watches him.

“BRILLIANT!”

They both jump at the shout, which Paddy Kirk accompanies by thumping his fists on the table, causing a reverberation of plates and cutlery. They’re not the only ones startled, as across from him, Rhona exhales, a hand on her chest and says, “ _Paddy_!” 

He snaps his head away from Robert and Aaron and back to her. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that what you were saying is – is brilliant!”

She glares. “Right. I’ll try to almost get savaged by Great Danes more often, then, since you seem to like it so much.”

“Rhona – no, I didn’t mean…”

With Paddy using his best perturbed-egg expression on someone else for a change, Robert takes the opportunity to turn back to Aaron. 

“You still haven’t come up with anything,” he notes. He leans in on the table, which serves to casually bring him into Aaron’s space. “So…should I take it that means we’re alright?”

Aaron blows out a breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.” 

He doesn’t move away. It’s a start. “Okay,” Robert says.

“Okay? That’s it? You’re not gonna push me on this?” Aaron’s eyebrows pull together, lines appearing on his forehead.

“You know, when you say it like _that_ , it sounds like you want me to.” And just like that, he can feel it, his whole body priming as if in readiness to run a race. If Aaron wants him to push – he can push. 

But apparently not. “I just meant…it’s not like you, is all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve learned that with _you_ , I’ve got to take what I can get,” Robert tells him. He tips his head back in order to get the last mouthful of his drink. He can feel Aaron’s eyes on him, but when he lowers his glass and smiles, Aaron doesn’t smile back right away.

“– just couldn’t believe it. I mean, I was being firm, showing him who was boss – _very_ Dog Whisperer,” – drifts over from the other table, Paddy’s wife having been apparently pacified into retelling her story. “But the second I took my eyes off him – BAM. He was right in there.”

“Yeah,” Paddy says, risking a final unhappy glance over. “That’s…what generally seems to happen, all right.”

*****

After Aaron heads off to have a shower there’s no real reason to hang around – especially not when he catches Diane eyeing him. Chances are, she wants to play an Andy-themed twenty questions, and so Robert makes sure to leave before she gets the opportunity.

Outside the pub, he flicks on his phone and texts _Don’t use up all the hot water ;)_ as he cuts across the street. He doesn’t think of it as a _push_ , more of a nicely calibrated nudge.

Andy’s sitting at the kitchen table in Keeper’s, elbows on the table and mobile clutched between his hands. He doesn’t react at all as Robert comes in.

“Well?” Robert asks. “What did Debbie have to say for herself?”

When he looks up, it’s slow, like he hadn’t even realised that Robert was in the room. 

He blinks. “She said that…what she told me still stands. That I should sort out my own life, before trying to fix hers. That that’s the last thing she needs from me…and that come to think of it, she doesn’t really need me at all. For anything.”

“But?” It’s basic logic, since there’s no way Debbie just called to confirm that Andy’d got the message the first time. 

Something pulls in Andy’s face. “But the kids _do_. Need me. She said that – I’m their dad, and she’s not gonna take that away from me, or them. Even if she can’t come home right now. And she said that if I can just find a way to – support her on that, then maybe we can work something out.”

“And I’m guessing you’re okay with that?” Robert says – though the answer is obvious.

“Okay?” There’s a breathless waver running through his voice. “I’m more than just _okay_ ” – he shakes his head. “Last night, I thought I’d ruined everything. Permanently. Thought I’d be lucky if I even got to send them a card at Christmas. And now - now we’re talking about me going over there, and spending the holidays with them.” 

Robert claps him on the shoulder. 

“Funny how things work out, isn’t it?” Andy shakes his head again, presses his lips together. 

Five minutes later, on his way up the stairs, the phone in his hand vibrates, screen lighting up with the challenge – _M8 u need to find something better to do. Stop txting me_.

Robert pauses on the top step, thumbs already busy.

*****

Vic’s glowing when she and Adam finally make their appearance an hour and a half later. “Tri-enzyme resurfacing facial, exotic lime and ginger salt scrub, and a deep tissue muscle massage,” she informs them. “The word ‘stress’ is no longer a part of my vocabulary.”

“Yeah, I’d hope not, after all that,” Adam says, poking her in the side and telling Andy, “I hardly saw this one all weekend. I’m tellin’ ya, if there’d been any blokes giving them treatments, I’d’ve been worried.”

“Er, who says you shouldn’t be?” Vic says, poking him right back. She sighs. “Christina had magic fingers.”

“Christina?” Andy says. He’s got this look on his face like he could break out into a smile at any second. It’s been there all evening, a sort of hum of good-humour. “Doesn’t sound all that exotic to me.”

“She might’ve spelled it with a ‘K’,” Vic concedes, before sort of draping herself over Robert, which is possibly the destressed-Victoria equivalent of a hug. “I really needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” Robert tells her.

“Oh no, this is not me saying ‘thank you,’” she says, and holds up her index finger, like she’s about to conduct an orchestra. “No, _that_ is happening on Friday…when you, me, and Andy finally have that night out I promised.”

She lifts her head off his shoulder. “ _And_ ,” her finger gets even higher, “Because I am still full of ginger, lime and confidence – I’m saying this now, and I don’t want to hear any arguments from either of yez, you hear me?” 

She looks between him and Andy as she declares, full of citrus-scented self-assurance, “Our night out is gonna be a Sugden Success – and not a Sugden Disaster.”

*****

As it turns out, all sorts of ideas have massaged their way into Vic’s head – and she hasn’t forgotten that promised/threatened conversation she’d mentioned pre-spa experience.

“You should pop in around lunchtime. You know, just for a chat,” she says, the next morning. The words are casual, but there’s something in the way she says them that sends Robert off in search of the most caffeinated jar of coffee a small, limited-range village shop can provide. 

When he walks in, Carly and David have their heads bent close together – though as soon as he catches sight of Robert, David springs back so violently he almost rebounds when he hits against a corner of the counter.

“Seven,” he blurts out.

“What?” Carly says, still half-leaning in, “Oh. Right. The…figure.” She draws back. 

“Rolling average inventory,” David explains, very quickly. He taps the open ledger on the counter, like an alibi. “Bit of an ordeal, but – has to be done.”

He ignores the hissed, “Oi – not that much of an ordeal, _thanks_ ,” from his right. 

Robert raises his eyebrows. “Looks very thorough.” 

“Yes, well, the world of-of local commerce is very…detail-oriented.”

“Hang on – are you _sure_ that’s a seven?” Carly says, squinting down at the ledger. “It looks more like a one to me.”

“Of course it’s a sev – give me that.” David studies it. “It’s a seven.”

“Oh. Right.” Carly makes a face.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Just…there’s not much of a line. You know – across the top?” She demonstrates with her finger in the air. 

David stares at her. 

“But it’s fine. Yours is probably just a bit…short, that’s all.”

“My seven,” David draws himself up, “is _not_ short. My seven is perfectly average, thank you very much.” He catches Robert’s eye, and hastily adds, “ _Better_ than average, probably.”

“All right, keep your hair on. It’s only a number,” Carly tells him. She turns to Robert. “Now, what can I get you?”

*****

Vic’s already at a table, ready and waiting by the time he gets to The Woolpack, standing out in her chef’s whites. She beams and pats the seat next to her when she sees him.

There are a few desultory couplings spread around the pub – including Adam and Aaron, who he has to walk past to get to Vic. They’re tucked away in a corner, chatting (Adam) and picking at a debris of chips (Aaron). Adam gives him a generic greeting as he passes, while Aaron just raises his eyebrows and keeps chewing.

(He’d texted earlier, though, to confirm that they’d be meeting up that evening. They might not be completely okay yet – but Robert’s willing to bet that they will be, once they’re in the garage on their own).

“Ey – he’s just got back from a weekend break,” Robert says to Vic. He nods back toward Adam, as he swings himself into a chair. “What’s he doing skiving off?”

“He _is_ allowed to have lunch, you know,” she tells him.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to risk him overdoing it.” Robert glances over as Adam breaks out into a loud laugh in response to something Aaron says. “Not that _that_ looks too likely.”

Instead of launching a misguided defence of her husband, Vic just looks between his table and Robert, and smiles. Shakes her head.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing,” she says. “I was just thinking that it’s kind of weird, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“This. Us.” She gestures between herself and him. “You. Me. Adam. Aaron.”

“Diane. Chas. Dan-the-Mechanic,” Robert throws out, quickly glancing around the bar. “Are we just naming random people, or is there a point to all this?”

“Point?” Vic repeats, as if it’s a foreign concept.

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve dragged me here for a reason.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve dragged you to the pub,” she mocks. Then, “I’m just _sayin_ ’ it’s strange, that’s all. I mean, if you’d have told me a couple of years ago that this is where we’d be, I don’t think I’d’ve believed you. But here I am, twenty-one, sitting next to my long-lost big brother, and, oh yeah, married.”

“It _is_ hard to believe,” Robert agrees. Aaron’s finished with the chips, but neither he nor Adam seem inclined to move. How long is this lunchbreak?

“Married to _Adam_ , of all people. Like, could you even make this stuff up?” Vic says, as if she’s reading his mind. “Because…not that I was thinking about it or anything, but if you’d asked me back _then_ – well, I’d’ve said you were mental, obviously – but between the two of them, I’d’ve said I was way more likely to end up with _Aaron_.”

Robert blinks. Is she saying that…?

“Hang on – you and _Aaron_? You mean _you_ …”

Vic shrugs. It’s not a denial. 

His sister. His sister and – Aaron. 

Well, this is new and…somewhat perverse information. He makes a disgusted noise, face screwing up, before he just has to laugh. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s more than just ‘ _kind of_ ’ weird, Vic.”

“Why?” She looks at him. “Out of everything, why d’you find _that_ part weird?”

“Er…because you’re not exactly Aaron’s type? I mean, not to generalise or anything, but aren’t you a bit female for him?”

“I didn’t know that at the _time_ , though, did I?” She thinks about it. “Maybe even Aaron didn’t know then. And _that’s_ my point.”

His face screws up more. “The fact that you fooled around with Aaron once is your point?” God, he hopes it was just the once.

“No, my point is – things change. _People_ change…and that’s all right. _More_ than all right. It’s like…sometimes, you think someone is one way,” she puts her hands out as if they’re holding the sides of a box, “ – but then, it turns out that underneath it all, they’re completely different.” Her palms spread, wide and open, as she smiles at him. “And that’s great!”

“If you say so.” His heart does a soap bar skid in his chest. It’s just a feeling, and ostensibly they’re talking about Aaron’s sexuality (and just how did _that_ happen, again?), but it’s all so vague and –and _affirmatory_ that it comes off almost as – 

“It is,” she insists. “It’s a good thing when people feel they can be honest about who they really are.”

_Expectant_.

He doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean – look at Aaron,” she says, and he does, though mostly because – _him and Vic had…seriously_?! “Since he started being honest about who he was, he’s never been happier.”

Aaron catches them staring, and immediately frowns, shoulders going up like ‘ _What_?’ and Vic scrunches up her nose and amends, “In an _Aaron_ way.”

“Good for him,” Robert says. He flicks the words out like marbles, but Vic doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she pushes on regardless.

“You know, I used to worry a bit, seeing the two of them together,” she says, still looking over at Aaron. And Adam.

Robert glances at her. “You did?” Jesus – it’s a small village, but is there _anyone_ immune to whatever vibes Aaron’s putting out?

“Not worried something was gonna _happen_ – I didn’t mean it like that. Him and Adam are best friends, that’s all. But…Adam’s got me too, while Aaron…for him, it was just Adam, you know? And Aaron deserves more. He should have _more_ than that. I used to think,” she presses her lips together for a second as she tries to find the words to articulate it, “I used to think that…it’s probably pretty easy to fool yourself into believing you’ve got what you want – if you think that’s all you’re ever going to get.”

He can’t help it, as she speaks, his gaze moves across the room again, eyes seeking Aaron, watching the dip of his head when Adam makes a point, the way his arms cross over his chest. An echo of loneliness ripples through him, not entirely his own. It’s a very small village – and Robert knows how much smaller it can feel when you’ve made the mistake of not being exactly like everyone else.

“But now, I’m not worried anymore,” Vic finishes.

He tears his eyes away. “No?”

“No,” she agrees. “Because I realised…I don’t need to. Aaron’s an amazing bloke. _Of course_ someone’s gonna see that, and snap him up. They’d be stupid not to.”

She looks at him, eyebrows raised and an encouraging smile on her face. Like she’s just waiting for him to say Something Significant.

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed Prince Charming shows up then,” he says. “Again, not that I’m complaining, but did you want to talk to me about anything, y’know, important?”

Vic frowns at him – and he makes an impatient gesture with his hands. “Well?”

He’s expecting a heavy not-quite-lecture about family, some Andy-related ‘you don’t know what it was like for us when you were gone, so let me fill you in’ well-intentioned guilt trip. But that doesn’t happen. 

“I...wanted to ask you about – Diane’s Christmas present,” she says eventually, the words lining up slow. “That’s all.”

“Okay,” he says, adjusting himself in his seat and leaning his elbows on the table. “Well…let’s get to it, then.”

When he looks back at her, she’s still frowning.

*****

“What did you say to Vic?” he demands that evening, cornering Andy as soon as he comes in the door.

“About what?”

“What d’you mean, ‘about what’?” At Andy’s look of blank incomprehension, “Me and Aaron, _obviously_.”

“I didn’t say anything to her. _Obviously_.”

“Except you must’ve let _something_ slip, because she’s being really weird.”

“If she is, it’s nothing to do with me,” Andy says stoutly. “I told you I was gonna keep it quiet, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.” 

He’s so definite that Robert believes him, even as he asks, “Well, if it’s not coming from you, then where’s she getting it?”

Andy starts unzipping his coat. Hangs it up. “I don’t know. You, maybe?”

“ _Me_?” 

“You _have_ been spending a lot of time with Aaron.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. So by that logic, you and Moira Barton must be at it like rabbits.”

“The difference being, I _work_ for Moira, while you and Aaron actually _are_ – at it.”

“Yeah, which you only figured out because you walked in on us.” His tone brooks no argument when he adds, “Vic’s not getting it from me.”

“…all right.”

“ _What_?”

“Nothing. I just – don’t know why you’re so surprised, that’s all. You have to know that the longer this thing goes on for, the more people are gonna find out about it. That’s the way things work round here.” 

He states it so simply that the only defence Robert has is sarcasm. But then again, that’s always been a weapon of choice. “That your _expert_ opinion, is it?”

“If you’re at the stage where you’re having sleepovers right in the middle of the village, then yeah, I’d say you’d better be prepared for people to start putting two and two together.” He softens his voice a little. “How long d’you think you can keep this up for, really? Face it, Robert, anyone could’ve seen Aaron leaving yesterday. Maybe someone did, and that’s where Vic got the idea. If she hadn’t already guessed.”

It’s not like they’d fucked out in the front garden. Aaron hadn’t walked back to the pub barefoot and half-dressed, clothes clutched to his chest and with ‘shagged out’ written on his forehead in black marker. 

“Great theory,” he says, dismissive. “Really. Top notch. Surprised the FBI haven’t recruited you, the way you’re going.”

Andy looks at him. 

“Would it really be _that_ bad? People knowing – Vic knowin’?”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’ll be getting the ‘ _be true to yourself_ ’ speech every time you sit down to dinner. I don’t need that from her,” a deliberate pause, “– or anyone else.”

Andy takes this in. He nods. “It’s your life. I get that. And – I’m not having a go, honest I’m not, but…”

Of course he stops. Makes Robert ask for this unwanted insight. “What?” he bites out.

“Maybe you need to remember that – it’s Aaron’s life too.”

His throat tightens so much it’s hard to get the words out. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Just – it can’t be that much fun for him, can it? You sneaking around all the time like he’s something to be ashamed of.”

Part of him wants to point out the sheer fucking incongruity of Andy suddenly coming over like some kind of relationship expert – after he’s spent the last couple of months acting like a more tragic, beardier version of Ophelia. “Aaron knows the score, believe me. Casual – no strings…and it’s not like I had to twist his arm on any of that. We _both_ agreed.”

“Well then, that’s your problem solved, I suppose,” Andy says. Robert frowns and he shrugs, “Provided you can keep Vic out of it, of course.”

“Like that’s not easier said than done – and how’d you work that out?”

“Only by the sounds of it, you’ve both got a foot out the door already. If that’s really all there is between the two of you, you probably don’t need to worry about Aaron hanging around for that much longer.”

*****

There’s an odd reluctance dragging his steps when it comes time to go to the garage, making him late – though, from the sound of the conversation he can overhear as he approaches the half-open door, it’s another babysitting night.

 _Fantastic_. 

The Dingle-shaped third wheel in question apparently objects to this as much as Robert. “–Kirin! How many times do I have to say it? _I’m_ the one who broke it off with him, remember?”

“All right,” Aaron says. There’s the sound of a toolbox being opened. “Who are you texting, then?”

“You’re really asking me that? _You_?” Belle gives a sharp not-laugh. “Can you say ‘double standard’?”

“Double standard,” Aaron repeats obligingly. 

“Cain can’t stop me from having _friends_ , you know. And you can tell him I said that, too.” 

Impressed, in spite of himself, with how neatly she’s managed to side-step answering Aaron’s question, Robert finally makes his way inside.

Where Belle cuts her eyes at him and smiles a smile so fake it’s almost plastic. “Oh good,” she says. “I was starting to think Aaron’d been stood up.”

He immediately pivots from ‘impressed’ back to irritated. 

And then there follows an hour of messing around with the Allegro before appearances are satisfied and they can stop for a tea-break. Robert makes sure his back is to the rolling scrapheap, and even Belle decides to join them. Her phone vibrates and pings steadily, though she makes no move to pick it up – both her hands remain wrapped around her ugly green mug, the handle jutting out like a middle finger. Maybe she’s making a point to Aaron – though the texts just keep coming, faster and more insistent – until finally, Robert’s had enough.

“You might want to draw a few boundaries with your boyfriend.” He nods at her phone. “Just saying.”

“And you might want to look in a mirror. Just sayin’,” she fires back, flashing another synthetic smile.

Aaron rubs his hand against the side of his face, and suggests making it an early night as soon as the mugs and kettle have been tidied away. 

“Here,” he says, tossing Belle his keys. “Why don’t you sit into the car – I’ll be there in a second.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m a flight risk?”

“You don’t know how to get clutch point. I think I can chance it.”

Her gaze flicks between him and Robert. “Oh yeah, you can really lecture me about my life choices,” she says, an eyeroll of sanctimony running through the words. 

As soon as she ducks through the garage door, Aaron turns to him and says, “Sorry. Didn’t realise Cain’d be dropping her here tonight.”

“It’s all right,” Robert says. “Trust me, compared to Lachlan, she’s a picnic.”

“Right.” Aaron makes a face, and pushes his hands into his pockets. One of his heels drags on the ground. Out of the blue, he says, “So – you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?”

“What?”

“You’ve been really quiet all night – apart from snapping at Belle, of course. So go on – what is it?”

It’s true. He’s spent most of their time stealing glances at Aaron, and thinking about what Andy’d said. What Andy had _done_. Because it’s not like he hadn’t known there was an expiration date when it came to him and Aaron – but Andy’d come along and all but dismantled the whole thing in the space of a sentence or two. 

_How long d’you think you can keep this up for, really_? 

Not very long, probably – what with Andy knowing, and Vic sniffing around. Not even having a place to meet up, really, now that Cain’s decided to use the garage as a sort of makeshift Young Offenders’ Institute.

For something supposedly casual, it’s knotted itself into near unworkability. 

It had happened naturally and by degrees – and he can see that, looking back. But at the same time, he feels a kind of balled up anger at Andy for having said anything at all. It seems like in bringing his attention to how unsustainable the whole thing is…that Andy had somehow _made_ it so. Had forced Robert into a situation where the only reasonable thing left to do is…

…call things off. 

It hits like a fist, and he sucks in a breath.

“What?” Aaron’s eyes flit over his face. “That bad?”

_Unless_ , he realises, he’s being a bit extreme. 

Because maybe - maybe all they really need to do is…cool it for a bit. Give it a week, two at most, and Vic’s bound to lose interest. The trapped feeling starts to dissipate. All he has to do is find the right words to explain it to Aaron. 

Aaron, whose eyes are still fixed on his. Steady, unshakeable – except for the way his teeth pull at the corner of his mouth. 

Robert stills. _Or_ …

“Yeah. Yeah, it is actually,” he says.

Aaron only waits another second, before his hands come out of his pockets and his shoulders rise. “You gonna tell me – or am I supposed to just start guessing here?”

Robert tries to keep his face completely straight, as he looks at him. “Were you ever going to tell me you had a thing going with my little sister?”

“…what?” Aaron stares at him like he’s mad, and in spite of his best efforts, Robert can already feel a smile cracking the serious set of his face. “Uh – _no_. Why would I?”

“Because she’s my _little sister_? Seriously – you didn’t even think it rated a mention?” He can’t keep it together at Aaron’s expression of fastidious disgust – he has to laugh. 

Unimpressed, Aaron waits for his snickers to die down before pointing out, “It wasn’t like I was _comparing_ the two of you.”

His mouth is still curled, the occasional huff of amusement still bubbling out – but it’s too good an opportunity to waste. He catches hold of Aaron’s hips to pull him closer, and tells him, “I’m glad to hear it.”

After all, Andy doesn’t know _anything_ about this. Not really. Less than forty-eight hours ago, and he’d been completely clueless. Even now, he only has the truth because he literally walked in on it. 

And as for Vic – well, he can handle Vic. 

Robert can handle all of it. 

He looks at Aaron, and he thinks, with a defiance that borders on ‘you-can’t-make-me’ childish – _I’m not done with this_.

He leans in.

*****

The next morning, Vic circles her spoon in her cup as she studies Robert, frowning all the while.

“Is there something on my face?” he has to ask, finally.

“What? No, no,” Vic says, at the same time as Adam mutters, “Smug look, usually,” from the other end of the table. Still, she keeps examining him like he’s a duff ingredient she doesn’t know what to do with.

When lunchtime rolls around, he avoids the pub and the possibility of more searching looks (and, more importantly, the questions sculling around underneath the transparently dissatisfied surface), and stops in at the café instead. 

He passes the scene-setting Obligatory Dingle (Sam, the slow one), as he carefully balances a plateful of pastries on his way to join – Belle. Great. Two for the price of one. 

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I’ve got us all sorts,” Robert hears from behind, while in front – 

“– _more_ lice,” Paddy Kirk says, fingers loosely curled against the counter. “I’m tellin’ you, just when I think it’s under control…”

“Not to worry,” Bob Hope tells him, “Just let me roll up my sleeves and assemble a hasty ham roll, and then _you_ will be winging your way to the afflicted herd in no time at all.” 

He looks over Paddy’s shoulder and greets Robert with a smile and a, “The usual?” At Robert’s nod, he tells him, “I’ll bring it over.”

Robert pulls out a seat at an unoccupied (if Dingle-adjacent) table, and Paddy frowns, twisting around from the counter in order to watch him.

“D’you like them ones with the cream in?” Sam asks, off to the side. “It’s all right if you don’t – there’s other ones too.”

“They’re fine,” Belle says. “I’m not all that fussed, really.”

Without turning back, Paddy says, “Erm…Bob – I couldn’t change that order, could I? Have it here instead of to go?”

“Of course, but – I thought you were on a mission of mercy? Clock is ticking, every minute counts – sort of thing?”

“Well…it’s already an infestation,” Paddy says vaguely, already backing toward a table that’s to the right and in front of Robert. “Five more minutes isn’t gonna make that much difference, is it?”

And so, Robert finds himself in the middle of an unpleasant sandwich. On one side, Paddy aims a bespectacled version of Vic’s pensive, trying-to-see-through-your-skin look at him, while consuming a ham roll. On the other, Sam Dingle lobs inanities like – 

“This one’s chocolate, if you want some. It’s nice.”

“I’ve told you, I’m _fine_ ,” Belle says. “Why are you trying to give me diabetes, anyway?”

“I think it’s a flapjack, actually,” Sam says. “And I dunno. Just – it’s my day off, and our Cain said maybe you could do with a bit of cheering up.”

As he involuntarily eavesdrops, Robert scrolls through Buzzfeed on his phone and begins reading “18 Things People Who Love Christmas Do In December.” Anything to avoid having to watch Paddy Kirk pensively cram bread into his face while staring at him. 

“Of course he did. Let me guess – he gave you a list of questions to ask me, while you were at it.”

“What? No,” Sam says. Then, mumbling, “Thought it’d be nice, that’s all. You and me, spending a bit of time together. I don’t hardly see you these days.” 

Because his article is mostly comprised of pictures of animals and people in festive hats, the silence at the table across from him has Robert glancing over, in spite of himself. 

“I’m sorry, Sam…I didn’t mean that.” Belle looks at him, then smiles, reaching for a muffin. “This is…nice. Thanks.”

There’s the sound of a text alert – and at the same time the door to the café opens, and Pearl Ladderbanks bustles in only to abruptly halt as she sees –

“Paddy?!”

He swallows his current mouthful of ham. “Pearl!”

“Shouldn’t you be at Donovan’s by now?” She advances toward him, an eye-watering, confused block of fuschia. “They said it was an emergency!”

“I am! I mean – I will be,” he says, already getting to his feet.

And so with Paddy gone, and Pearl carrying on a low voiced conversation with Bob, the only thing left to distract Robert from “14 Couples Who Are Definitely Breaking Up” is – 

“D’you not want to see who it is?” Sam asks at the familiar, repetitious buzz of Belle’s phone. “It might be something important.”

“Yeah…I already know who it is – and believe me, it’s _not_ ,” Belle tells him. By now, her mobile sounds like it has a stutter. “Besides, if we’re spending quality time together, then that should mean no interruptions, right?”

He mentally chews on this. “S’pose.”

“So – what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. I told you I didn’t have a list or anything” – Sam begins, only to stop as his own phone starts to ring.

“It’s Megan,” he says. “I’m sorry, Belle. I know you were sayin’ about quality time and all that, but…it’s Megan.”

“It’s fine, Sam. You can answer it,” she says – and he does, as Robert starts in on “Why Is Geek Suddenly Chic?” 

“Hullo? Megan? What, no, I’m just at the café. Yeah, with Belle.”

Robert idly considers a picture of a woman in a high-cut Ms Marvel costume. 

“You what? I thought that weren’t until tomorrow? No, no – of course I can. Just give us five minutes, and I’ll be there. I promise.”

As Sam hangs up, Ms Marvel is succeeded by Ned Stark, brooding on the Iron Throne. 

“Sorry, Belle – I’ve got to go. Megan needs us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells him. “Really. Say hi from me.”

“Ta,” he says. And, with the air of someone conferring a great boon. “Ey, you can have all them treats to yourself now.”

“Yeah – thanks,” Belle says, forced smile evident in her words.

And finally, there’s nothing to keep Robert from giving his full attention to “The Sexual Tension Is Real In The New “Batman V Superman” Teaser.”

Belle’s phone pings again, and – “ _What_?” she exhales, taking it up in her hand. “What is it _this_ time?”

Robert twists in his seat to better face her. “Someone not getting the message?” He nods at her phone. “How is he?”

“How’s who?” she fronts, placing it down on the table, and folding her arms. 

“Your secret boyfriend.”

“I wouldn’t know. How’s yours?”

Robert’s palms come up in a defensive ‘sorry I asked’ move. A second later, Belle’s shoulders slump, and she sighs. “Look – can we just drop it?”

“Fine by me.” Robert’s good with not getting smacked by smart remarks while he tries to enjoy the dregs of his coffee and “17 Of The Worst Dares People Have Ever Done.” Speaking of – he flicks his thumb across the dark screen of his phone, lighting it up once again. 

“And he’s _not_ my boyfriend, by the way,” she adds, like she can’t help herself. As if in contradiction, her mobile pings.

Robert looks up. Nods. Looks back down. “If you say so.”

“We’re just friends.” 

“All right.” He waits until – _there_ it is. _Ping_. “Does _he_ know that?”

“He’s just this lad. He’s been going through a really hard time lately, and – I know what that’s like.” She frowns at her phone. “I was only trying to help.”

“Nice of you.” Robert studies her, because even though she’s talking to him, it doesn’t feel like she’s addressing Robert, specifically. 

“Yeah,” she says. She turns the phone in her hands. Makes a face. “Except for him getting the wrong idea.”

“Well, keep ghosting him, and I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” Another _ping_. “Eventually.”

She looks at him. “That’s your advice? Ignore him until he goes away?”

“I didn’t realise you were _asking_ for advice,” he says. “But all right – if you’re that morally opposed to ghosting, then maybe you should just tell him.”

“ _Tell_ him?”

“Honesty is the best policy – at least, that’s what people say,” he says, because she’s Aaron’s…cousin? Aunt? Half-step- _something_ or other? Anyway, it’s the kind of bloodless, unobjectionable ‘it gets better’ advice he’s heard Chrissie give Lachlan ad nauseum. The most Lachlan had ever done was endure it stoically – but maybe that’s a feature of the advice itself, because Belle seems similarly unconvinced. 

“Wow,” she says flatly. “Helpful.”

A bit nettled, Robert points out, “Hey, if it was that easy to come up with a solution, you wouldn’t be talking about it, would you?”

_Ping_.

“Okay.” She tips her chin up. “You know what? Let’s try your way then – see how it works.” And leaning one elbow on the table, and nailing him with a look that wouldn’t be out of place on an investigative journalist, she asks, “What are you doing up at Home Farm?”

“What?” he says.

“Why do you go up to Home Farm so often?” she repeats. “It’s a simple question, right? And, according to you – honesty _is_ the best policy. So?” She raises her eyebrows.

It _is_ a simple question – but it feels oddly personal at the same time. For whatever reason, he feels – thrown by it. Caught out. Watched. 

“Er… _exercise_?” he says, like it’s obvious. 

“And that’s the only reason.” It’s clear from her tone that she doesn’t believe him. 

“What else would it be?” he asks. And, “Hang on – have you been following me?”

“Do you really think I’ve got nothing better to do than follow you around?”

“I’m starting to wonder.”

Belle regards him for a long moment before she decides, “Yeah – I don’t know if honesty’s really the way to go. I mean – look at how defensive _you_ are. And you’ve got nothing to hide – supposedly.”

“What d’you care, once it gets rid of him?” Robert says. “Seems simple enough to me – one flash of that sparkling personality, and he’ll be running for the hills in no time.”

“Yeah, well, normal people have this thing called _guilt_ ,” she fires back, before falling silent as she looks back down at her mobile.

There’s a line between her eyebrows – and looking at her, Robert is taken off guard by a sudden burst of fondness. Not for _her_ …but there’s something in the shape of her face or the twist of her expression that reminds him strongly of Aaron. 

It makes him say to her, “There’s no shame in taking care of yourself, you know. Even if it ends up hurting someone else.” Real advice. “Sometimes, you’ve got to put yourself first.”

“And that’s what you do, is it? Just – throw people away when you’re done with them?” Belle asks – though it’s not a question, so much as disgusted confirmation. 

Obviously _this_ is the reason everyone spews clichés – the juvenile sanctimony that goes hand in hand with the slightest hint that the world might not be black and white after all. 

“I think if you listen to what I _actually_ said, it was ‘put yourself first’ not ‘you should act like a complete sociopath and treat everyone like dirt’.”

“I know what you meant.” She sweeps to her feet and grabs her shoulder bag, pausing a moment to look down on him and say, “But I’m not like you. I don’t _use_ people like that.”

*****

After a day of being stared at by Aaron’s father figure, and then scolded by Aaron’s half-cousin twice removed (or whatever Belle is), it seems almost inevitable that, ten minutes before he’s due to head to the garage, he gets a text – _Can’t make tonight_.

Tension crawls up his neck, settling at the base of his skull. The inevitability doesn’t make it less irritating. More, if anything, because right now Aaron should be bending over backwards – literally – to ensure that Robert has more than enough inventively athletic reasons to continue putting up with various and sundry members of Aaron’s family treating him like sentient dirt. 

He wonders if Belle or Paddy has said something to him, but (unless Paddy’d gone all out describing the sinister way he’d _breathed_ while under surveillance, or Aaron somehow found his advising Belle to take care of herself _offensive_ ), he can’t think of anything he’s done that could warrant an Aaron cold-front. Again. He quickly discards the idea, along with ( _how long d’you think you can keep this up for, really?_ ) the faint voice of Andy that seems to come with it, in possibly the world’s least unappealing two-for-one offer. 

Well. All that’s left for him to do is make the best of it.

Accordingly, he hangs around the kitchen as Vic makes lemon and rosemary potato wedges, because “I thought it might be a bit of fun to spice up some of the sides for Christmas. Not that Marlon’ll take any of my ideas on board – I swear to God, he’s like Mussolini in a bandana these days.”

“Aw – never mind babe,” Adam tells her, drawing her under his arm. She sighs and rests her head against his chest for a second before frowning at Robert. “Hang on – what are you still doing here? Aren’t you meeting Aaron tonight?”

“Called it off,” Robert says, leaning up against the cabinet.

“What? Why?”

He shrugs. “Does there have to be a reason? I just – didn’t feel like it.”

“But why?” Vic repeats, and he blinks at her. 

“Is it really that big a deal? Come on, Vic, it’s not like we spend every waking moment together.”

“No, I suppose not,” she says, as she stuffs her hands into a pair of yellow oven gloves. “More like – every _other_ waking moment.”

He ignores this. 

“You know…” And there’s that ‘just making conversation’ tone again, “I bet if you called Aaron up, said sorry or whatever, he’d probably still be up for it. Meeting you, I mean. Right, Adam?” Hampered by the mitts, she improvises with an elbow dig to her left.

“Oh absolutely – glutton for punishment, that lad,” Adam agrees. 

“Do I need to spraypaint it on the walls or what?” he asks. “Vic – it’s not. that big. a deal.”

“All right – I was only saying,” Vic says. 

“And hey – even if it was, why are we automatically assuming that _I’m_ the one who needs to apologise?”

She exchanges a look with Adam before she turns and opens the oven, which pants hot, aromatic breath into the kitchen. 

“Are you sure you can’t call him, though?” Adam says a few minutes later, as he steals a wedge from Vic’s roasting tin. “No offence, mate, but I like you better when you’re not here.”

It’s the start of a very long evening.

The lemon and rosemary wedges turn out well though.

*****

All of yesterday’s attempts to lay low have backfired spectacularly, and so he eventually succumbs to the five texts and two voicemails (one inadvertently guest-starring Marlon) that Vic leaves for him throughout the day, suggesting that he call in to the pub again for lunch…and then, later, tea.

“ –le waiting! You should be working on those Hotch Potches right now, not having another natter on your phone!”

“Yeah, and I will in just a minute – it’s three orders, not a ten car pile-up. Anyway, Rob, there’s no point trying to avoid me, because I know where you live. So…I’ll see you soon? The special today is Seafood Hotch Potch, by the way. I’ll save you some.”

Later, seated across from her and with said plate of Potch in front of him like a consolation (or maybe a penance), Vic regards him steadily.

He swallows a mouthful of diced onions and carrots, and says, “What is it this time? Seeing as we’ve got Diane’s present done and dusted.”

“Er – you told me to pick something out for her, and then said that you’d pay me back,” Vic reminds him. 

“Yeah. Done and dusted, like I said.” Robert repeats.

The easy detour of sibling bickering beckons, but Vic doesn’t take it. Instead – 

“Life plan,” she announces.

He frowns at her. “What?”

“You heard me. _We_ are going to make out a life plan.”

“A life plan.” He smiles in disbelief. “For…?”

“For you.”

He laughs, because. A life plan. Really. “Right. And will this be happening before or after you align my chakras?”

“I’m serious, Rob. You need to start thinking about what’s really important to you. You can’t just keep drifting like this. _So_ …” she produces a pen and then digs around in her pocket for – a slightly crumpled napkin, “…you can start by telling me what you need – really _need_ – in your life right now.”

_Drifting_? 

He’s not _drifting_ – he’s…recalibrating. Recharging. Finding his equilibrium.

Robert blinks at her, pen hovering attentively over her makeshift notepad. “I don’t know. Oxygen? Shelter?”

Her mouth doesn’t so much as twitch. She just fixes her disappointed eyes on him and waits. 

“Oh come on, Vic. No offence, but I don’t think I’m gonna find the answers to all of life’s questions on the back of a serviette.”

“Well, not with that kind of attitude.” She puts the pen down. “And it’s not about finding all the answers…just _some_ of them. It’s more about – figuring out the non-negotiables.”

“Like…oxygen and shelter?”

A slight pause, but she soldiers on, determinedly disregarding his facetious attitude. “Take _me_ , for example. Yeah, my life’s turned out really different than I would’ve pictured it even a year ago…but some things are constants. Like food.”

“I’m glad to hear it, seeing as it is a basic human need.”

“I mean _working_ with food. Much as this place does my head in sometimes, I love the actual work. And yeah, one of these days, I’m gonna move out of that kitchen,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder, toward the bar, “and do my own thing – but I know that that _thing_ is still gonna be food-related. Because food is my constant.” She presents her palms like she’s serving him a futuristic fait accompli – 

– and Robert’s attention is finally engaged. 

“Are you saying you don’t want to work here anymore?” 

“Well, not for the rest of my life, no. Obviously I’d like to branch out, be my own boss eventually,” Vic says. “But that’s not exactly relevant right now.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it is. Vic, if you want to strike out on your own, it’s never too soon to start.”

She makes a face. “Oh yeah, cause I’ve really got the capital and the experience to go it alone.” 

“You don’t need capital – not right away, at any rate.” He thinks for a second, ideas already jumping into his head. “You’ve got a kitchen, haven’t you? Just make a couple of batches of cookies, and give them an appropriately cutesy name. I bet Bob’d stock them. David as well, probably. Get some good word of mouth going, and before you know it, you’ve got your own little artisanal line.”

“My own artisanal line?” Vic repeats. She sounds taken aback, but she rolls the words around on her tongue like she’s testing them out – and Robert goes for the hard sell.

“Vic, I’m telling you – start building your brand now, and it’ll be a million times easier to walk away from all this,” he glances around the pub, “in a couple of years’ time.” 

“Right. Well that’s…really good advice, actually…” she shakes her head, as if to clear it. “But it’s not what I want to talk about with you.”

“What – I just hand you a golden opportunity to make all your dreams come true, and you don’t even want to discuss it?”

“I never said that! And believe me, we will be cycling back to this ‘artisanal line’ stuff sooner rather than later,” she says, one finger held up to prevent him interrupting, “But – you are not making all my dreams come true. Because some of my dreams involve Adam.”

“Fair point. I’ve got no idea how to turn him into a money maker for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

It’s not, really. Tragicomic, at best.

“I just mean – he’s my other constant.” She looks down, pressing her short nails into a beer mat. Careful. “Bit of a surprise really…since I didn’t even _want_ to get married at first.”

It’s strange to hear, because grinning slacker that Adam Barton is, his sister seems pretty attached. “What? Why not?” 

“Take your pick” – she starts listing the reasons on her fingers. “Adam was just out of prison, we’d not been back together that long – and it just seemed a bit much to go from sharing a pizza to sharing the entire rest of our lives.” She frowns. “I guess what it really came down to was – I didn’t want to be tied down like that.”

She’s twenty-one, his kid sister. And Robert starts to wonder whether this whole ‘life plan’ thing hasn’t been a fabrication in order for _her_ to confide in _him_. To test the waters with someone sympathetic.

“Makes sense to me,” he says, carefully, nonjudgmentally. She’s still only twenty-one.

“Yeah – but then I went through one of the worst times of my entire life, and – Adam was there for me.”

His ears perk up at this ‘worst time of my life’ thing – she means the stuff with Andy, right? – but he stays focused on the most important thing. “And I’m sure you were grateful for that. But is gratitude a good enough reason to get married?”

She wouldn’t be the first Sugden to have a starter marriage under her belt. Chrissie flashes across his mind briefly. Probably not the last, either.

“Gratitude? What are you on about?” Her whole face erupts into incredulity. “No – you’re not _getting_ it, Robert. I went through a really bad time, and all the other things, the ones that I _thought_ mattered…they faded away. But Adam stayed. And I finally realised just how important he was to me. All that other stuff was – window dressing.” 

So, _not_ …having second thoughts. O-kay.

“Very inspirational,” he says, and shrugs at her because, “What am I supposed to be taking away from this again?”

Vic looks at him. “You’re happy,” she says.

His eyebrows draw together. “What?”

“A couple of months ago, you lost everything – job, house…Chrissie. You should be miserable – but you’re not. You’re _happy_. Since you came home, you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

He pushes his half-finished Potch away, unnerved. Vic’s words are gentle, matter of fact. He takes them like an accusation. “Considering the last time you saw me was ten years ago, I’m not sure that’s saying much.”

“Tell me I’ve got it wrong then,” Vic says. Urges him. “Go on. Tell me I’m seeing something that’s not there. Say, ‘ _You’re wrong, Vic_ ’ – just that. And I’ll believe you.”

You’re wrong. It’s the easiest thing in the world to say – because it’s true. 

Happy…yeah. All right. Fair enough. He can admit that, lately, he’s felt…happy. In a general sense.

Happier than he’s _ever been_ , though? That’s not…he’s not…there’s no way that…

_You’re wrong_. The words rise up at the back of his throat.

Vic waits long enough that it feels like she’s underlining the fact that he’s not going to say anything. Then she places her hands on the table, flat, and leans in. He keeps his mind aggressively blank - like a white piece of paper. An unwritten on napkin. 

“I _want_ you to be happy, Rob. So maybe… _maybe_ you should start thinking about what it is that’s got you feeling that way. And – what you need to do to _keep_ it in your life.”

She sits back in her chair. “Because everything else…that’s just window dressing.”

*****

Robert takes the ‘no news is good news’ approach with regard to Aaron and their plans for the evening. Not to mention yesterday’s attempts to downplay had had pretty much the opposite of the desired effect. Going by today’s pep talk, Vic’ll probably call a full on intervention if he stays in again tonight. He’s damned if he does, and damned if he doesn’t – and in those kinds of no-win circumstances, Robert generally tends to opt for ‘do.’

Besides, he’s not sure he could take another evening third-wheeling it with his little sister and her husband. And all right, probably he could take option b, and go for a few pints with Andy instead, but. 

He doesn’t want to.

He’s a bit early, so he ducks into the shop beforehand. Give Aaron time to arrive. Get set up.

“Sorry – we’re closed!” Carly calls. She’s halfway through putting on her coat.

“Not according to your sign – or my watch,” he says.

She checks the phone in her hand. “Fine.” She slides her arm through the other sleeve of her coat. “ _You_ have got exactly two minutes to play Supermarket Sweep – and your time begins… _now_.”

He looks around very deliberately, before picking up a bottle of water. Behind him the door swishes open again heralding another customer, which Carly greets with a groan, slumping over the counter. “Paddy – I’m locking up here.”

Robert turns – and sure enough, there he is, the man himself, hovering in the background like a suspicious balloon.

“Right. No, I know that – I just…I really needed…some…” Paddy plucks an item at random, even though his eyes never leave Robert.

“Salsa?” Carly says. “You’re keeping me late for _salsa_?”

“Mexican themed emergency, is it?” Robert asks, sardonic.

“Well, not so much an _emergency_ , as…as…” something changes in Paddy’s face midway through the hedging sentence. “You know what? All right. I admit it.” 

He draws himself up. “I’ve been checking you out.”

Robert blinks – but Paddy holds his gaze until, behind the counter, Carly sniggers. At which point, he deflates as he realises the inadvertent double entendre. “Oh _very_ funn-that’s obviously not what I…I didn’t mean it like _that_.”

As he tries to untangle himself from his word-knot, Robert takes the opportunity to hand back the water bottle, while saying, “You know what, on second thoughts…” 

“Oh right – well, thanks for not completely wasting my time!” Carly raises her voice as he makes for the exit.

He’s only just outside, hunching his shoulders to keep the chill out, when there’s that swish again and – 

“You know, if you’re really serious about stalking me, you might want to invest in I don’t know – a trenchcoat? Couple of false moustaches? It might actually be more low-key.”

Paddy just looks at him. “I’m not trying to be low key.”

“Congratulations then,” Robert says. He turns and starts for the garage – and Paddy trots along behind him. “What’s all this meant to achieve, anyway?”

Robert stops. “Are you – trying to scare me off? Is that it?” He flicks a dismissive glance over Paddy, heels to head. “Because if it is, I hate to break it to you, but…” 

He starts to walk again.

“That’s not why,” Paddy says, doggedly following after him.

“Then what is it? Because the last I remember, you and Chas were letting Aaron make his own decisions. In theory, at least.” Honestly, between the two of them, Chas is the more obvious candidate for loose cannon. He’s only put up with Paddy’s Big-Brother-is-Watching-You act for this long because of the inept novelty value. 

Say what you will about Chas – at least she’s a successful nuisance.

“I’m not going to interfere,” Paddy says. They’re almost at the garage. “I’m not gonna say anything, or do anything.”

“Yeah – why break the habit of a lifetime, eh?” 

“I’m just keeping an eye out.” He keeps speaking, determinedly ploughing through the attempted diversions and insults to make his point. “And I will be, _every_ day from now on. Showing you what it’s going to be like until you” – 

Robert stops again. “Until I _what_?” They’re almost at the door of the garage. Aaron’ll be inside by now. 

Paddy levels another of those looks at him. “We all know how this game ends. You, me, Aaron.” He smiles a sad kind of smile. “Aaron probably knows it better than anyone else.”

“Right. Because obviously I’m trying to ruin his life,” Robert finishes. He knows this song off by heart.

“Oh, I don’t think you need to _try_ ,” Paddy says, quite sincere. “It just seems to come naturally.”

“And where are you getting all this from exactly? The way I take my coffee?”

“You’re going to hurt him.” It’s soft but uncompromising, and it makes something in Robert’s stomach flinch. “I don’t know if you still haven’t realised that, or you just don’t care…but that doesn’t make any difference. You’re going to hurt him. And maybe I have to stand by and watch that happen…but I don’t have to make it easy for you.” 

He just stands there for a moment, letting the words sink in, refusing to be flustered by Robert’s eyes in a way that doesn’t seem very Paddy Kirk, Local Joke. It’s disconcerting. He looks back at Robert – no, he looks _through_ him – then nods toward the garage. “Aaron’ll be waiting.”

He takes a step back, then another, because apparently even Paddy’s prying eyes have limits. Good to know. 

Robert moves toward the door – and stares for a moment at the blank expanse of it. His fingers press into his palms. He swivels on his heel. “Or maybe you’re wrong about me.”

Paddy stops. Retraces his steps. “Well, I’m not holding my breath. Sorry.” 

“All right,” but it’s not agreement – it’s a challenge. “Then take your best shot.”

“– what?” Paddy frowns, abruptly getting it when Robert spreads his hands in invitation. “Hang on – you want me to… _hit you_?”

“If you’re really that sure about me, then yeah. Go right ahead.” 

“But – you’ve not done anything.”

“No, but according to you, I deserve it. Or if I don’t right now, I will sooner or later. So why don’t we just get it out of the way?” He maintains eye contact as he calls Paddy’s bluff, feeling a bolt of self-confidence. This, he can deal with. 

“And how is me hitting you supposed to solve anything?”

Robert shrugs. “The way I see it, there are only two ways this can go. Either you believe you’re right, one hundred percent – or you _know_ , deep down, that there’s a possibility you’re wrong about me.”

“And let me guess, if there’s even a chance, then I need to mind my own business.”

“Well, it’d be a bit hypocritical, if you couldn’t put your money where your mouth is,” he points out. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Paddy says, trying to stand tall – and round. Not backing down – not that it matters because he’s got all the belligerence of a lifelong pacifist. As is evidenced by the rest of his response, “But I don’t hit people. Not even you.”

“Your choice. But I should warn you – this is a one-time offer, and the clock is ticking.” Robert stands close and starts counting. Slowly. “Five. Four. Three.”

Paddy shakes his head, eyes sliding toward the ground.

“Two. One. No?” He takes a breath. “Well, now that that’s sorted, why don’t we forget about” – 

Paddy appears to lunge forward while at the same time, cringing back – an odd, counterintuitive move. Not that it matters, because his fist still smacks against the side of Robert’s mouth, sending him stumbling backwards, as much from shock as the force of the hit. His head bangs against the garage door, and his legs flail in an ungainly way to push him back upright.

There is no way on earth he is going to be knocked to the ground by Paddy flipping Kirk.

He touches his tongue to his top lip and tastes blood. “Fuck – _ow_!”

Paddy’s hands jerk forward, as if to help him, then back, as if he’s afraid to. He seems even more stunned by the turn of events than Robert. “I’m sorry! Are you all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you!” 

Robert stares at him. “You _hit_ me.”

“You told me to!”

They both turn as behind them, the door to the garage opens. 

Aaron looks between them. “What’s going on?”

*****

Robert’s lip stops bleeding very quickly (it turns out to be a nick from one of his own teeth), while after two minutes of stuttering apologies and garbled explanations, Paddy is dispatched with a dark promise/threat to “- talk about this later, yeah?”

“Can you believe him?” Aaron paces the floor. “Did he say anything about why he did it?”

_You’re going to hurt him_.

He concentrates on stretching his mouth, carefully. The cut might be small, but it’s still sore. “I don’t know.”

“Well there must’ve been _something_ – cause he’s not gonna haul off and hit you out of nowhere, is he?”

“Thanks for the support. Yeah, I’m fine by the way.”

Aaron stops and looks at him. “Well obviously. It was just Paddy.” He starts to pace again. Throws out, “Besides, he said you asked for it – literally.”

“I didn’t know he’d actually _do it_ though.” Robert watches him. “Look, if it’ll stop you wearing a hole in the floor – it just seemed like more of the same ‘you’re a bad influence’ stuff to me. Nothing specific.” 

He catches Aaron’s arm, forcing him to come to a halt. 

_You’re going to hurt him_. “I don’t know, maybe he thinks I’m gonna offer you some cigarettes and take you for a joyride, or something.”

Aaron shakes his head. “What’s he playing at? I swear, he’s worse than me mum.”

“No offence, but I’m not sure there’s that much of a difference,” Robert points out. “Your mum just outsourced the punching to Cain.”

“Yeah, well, being beaten up by Cain is one thing.” Aaron sucks in a breath. “Being beaten up by _Paddy_ , on the other hand…” The corners of his mouth pull upwards, like he’s only now fully appreciating the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“He caught me off guard,” Robert says. It feels like the kind of thing he’s going to be saying several times this evening. 

“You’ll live,” Aaron tells him, eyes flicking downwards. He touches his thumb to Robert’s injured lip.

He flinches, but winds his fingers around Aaron’s wrist, keeping his hand on his face. “You know…” he says. “I can’t help but notice we’re on our own tonight. Where’s Belle? Out back making popcorn?”

“About that…” Aaron looks at him. “Had a bit of a chat with Cain yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” Robert asks as anticipation flares, a lit match in his stomach. “And what did you two talk about?”

He considers it for a second, as if he has to think back. His hand slides down to Robert’s shoulder, skimming his arm, before it falls back into place by Aaron’s side. “Might’ve told him that Belle was too old for babysitters, and even if she wasn’t – I’m not doing it anymore.”

“And how’d he take that?”

“D’you see her here?” 

“You did the right thing,” Robert tells him, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Suppose. This – sticking her in the garage, it’s not sorting anything…just making her feel worse. It’s not good for her.” He wrinkles his nose. “Specially not now – not with you and Tyler Durden going at it.”

Robert ignores the dig. Reassures him, “Belle’s a smart kid – all she needs is a bit of space.” And going by the strop she’d thrown in the café two days ago, Robert’s betting the secret not-boyfriend is going to be the first thing she tosses on the scrapheap. Problem (nearly) solved.

“Yeah.”

“Hey – you can’t always force people to do what you want…even if your name _is_ Cain Dingle.” The joke is careful, and he smiles a bit as Aaron’s eyes finally meet his in acknowledgment. “At least this way, if Belle asks for help, you’ll know she actually wants it. Trust me, Aaron – you made the right call.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Aaron adds, offhand, “Since Cain’s probably gonna jack up the storage fees on your car.”

“I’m all right with that,” Robert tells him. As Dingle-themed retaliation goes, he’s dealt with worse. His fingers creep up Aaron’s chest. “So long as I get my money’s worth.”

He rolls his eyes, but leans in anyway, responding to the pull of Robert’s hands. 

And that’s it – lack of space sorted. 

Alone time reinstated. 

Everything can go back to normal now. 

Aaron kisses him, soft, but the cut on his lip stings. In spite of everything, all these words start to reverberate through his brain, each one tipping over into the next, like irritating dominoes – 

_…long d’you think you can keep this up for, really?_

_…can’t just keep drifting like this…_

_…you’re going to hurt him…_

_…how long d’you think you can…_

He kisses Aaron harder.

*****

Afterwards, it’s dark and late. In spite of the chill, getting redressed is an aimless, stop-and-start process, and they keep finding ways to delay, stringing out the seconds one by one – until finally, they can’t ignore the time any more.

It might be cold inside the garage, but outside it’s perishing, peel your face off freezing. Robert clamps his arms against his sides and waits as Aaron locks up, instead of legging it across the quiet street. The clinking of keys seems loud in the silence that envelops them like a held breath.

One more twist and that’s it – garage closed, cars inside all locked up, safe and sound. Aaron shoves the keys into his pocket, quickly followed by his hands. “Well? What you waiting for?”

Jesus, even his _teeth_ feel cold when he smiles. His lip twinges absently, but he thinks it’ll be fine by tomorrow. “Not going to offer to walk me home then?”

Aaron scoffs. “Why? You worried about Paddy?”

“Oh yeah – terrified he’s gonna lurch out at me from behind a bush,” Robert deadpans. He leans against the just locked door and tells Aaron, “You could always walk me home anyway.”

Aaron doesn’t – but he does kiss Robert for long, chilly minutes, the two of them pressed up against the dark garage, and Robert thinks, again, so loud and clear that it drowns out everything else – 

_I’m not done with this_.

*****

“So – did you fix things with the in-laws?” Carly asks the following morning, grinning and reaching out to tap his elbow as he moves past with a mug of Bob’s finest. “Love Bug all revved up and ready to ride again?”

Robert places his coffee on the crayon-strewn café table, and slides in opposite her. “How about you and David? Get all that inventory taken?” he counters.

She makes a face. “All right, Cleopatra Sugden – we can’t all be living love’s young dream. Some of us have to get our thrills by counting up the Cup-a-Soups.”

Carly’s companion – a small, dark-haired girl – has been ignoring them both, head bent as she busily marks a sheet of paper. But now her hand wanders toward a three-quarters demolished cookie, and after considering it for a moment, she asks Carly, “Can I have another one?”

Carly frowns down at her. “Are you _sure_ you’re sick?”

“Very,” the little girl assures her. 

“Then you should know that too much chocolate’s not good for people who are ill.”

“They’re only little pieces,” the child reasons. Deeply sincere, she adds, “And I think it’s settling my stomach.”

“Hmm,” Carly says.

The little girl turns to Robert. “Are _you_ feeling better?” 

“Me?” Robert gives her a forehead-creased smile. The cut on his lip has faded into near-unnoticeability – even Vic hasn’t said anything. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

The little girl regards him. “My daddy says you’re sick in the head.”

Robert blinks at her. Across from him, Carly freezes, then flashes him a smile. “Her – daddy’s Marlon Dingle. You…might have come up in conversation once or twice.”

Seems about right.

“Let’s have a look at this picture then, April.” Carly twists in her chair and picks up the piece of paper. “ _Very_ nice. Masterpiece in the making, definitely. Could use a bit more purple though.”

April tilts her head to the side as she studies it. “D’you really think so?”

“You can never go wrong with a bit more purple,” Carly says, and hands her the required crayon. She gives Robert another of those quick smiles over April’s head.

*****

That night’s dinner conversation revolves around Vic’s plans for Friday, although she refuses to give any specifics.

“I want it to be a surprise, so don’t bother asking, because I’m not gonna tell you,” she announces, looking around the table expectantly.

“All right,” Andy ventures.

“Well, you can _ask_ ,” Vic corrects. “I still won’t tell ya, but – ‘epic’ is the word that comes to mind.”

“A couple of drinks in Hotten is _epic_ now?” Robert asks, sceptical.

“I never said we were going out in Hotten, though, did I?” Vic counters, though she almost immediately admits, “All right, yeah, it is Hotten, but – come on! Three Sugdens, out on the town? Epic’s an _understatement_ , if anything.”

“Don’t know about these two, but you’ve definitely got me worried, babe,” Adam jokes, slightly muffled by a mouthful of pastry. “Are we talking monkeys and face-tattoos here?”

Vic doesn’t answer. Instead, she says suddenly, “What about Aaron?” 

Robert’s gaze accidentally flickers to Andy – who glances back, expressionless, before dropping his eyes. “What?”

“Have you told him you’re not gonna be around on Friday?”

“No, not yet,” Robert says. “Must’ve been too busy making out my last will and testament for this ‘epic’ night out.”

“Well, just make sure you say it to him tonight, that’s all,” Vic says, while spearing a piece of quiche crust with her fork, as if for added emphasis. 

But even though she leaves it there, it’s obviously still playing on her mind – because later on, she calls him just as he’s heading out the door, and presents him with a six pack. He stares at the neatly arranged bottles, and asks, “What’s this for?”

“I might’ve gone a bit overboard on the weekly shop up…and I can’t fit this in the fridge. I thought you and Aaron could share it? You know…sort of an apology for the short notice.” She gives an artless shrug.

“I’m letting him know twenty-four hours in advance,” Robert points out.

“Well, if you don’t want it…” Vic reaches out, but he cradles the thing protectively against his side because – “I didn’t say that.”

“Good.” She slaps a bottle opener into his other hand and smiles.

*****

As it turns out, Vic needn’t have worried, because Aaron is unflatteringly sanguine about Robert’s projected absence. He leans back against the Allegro, beer bottle in his hand, and when Robert says, “Vic’s got all this stuff planned – there’s no way I’m getting out of it,” Aaron just shrugs.

“Gives me a chance to have an early night. I’m doing collections all Friday.” He takes a drink and then frowns when he catches Robert looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Robert tells him, smugness all over the word like fingerprints. “Only…I seem to remember a time when you couldn’t wait to get out of here to hit the bars.” 

There’s still a twinge of sourness to the memory – Aaron, hardly looking at him, acting like there was nothing between them, and pointedly blowing Robert off for strangers. But that was then. _Now_ , faced with a night on his own, the best Aaron can come up with is – a night on his own. 

Robert grins at the thought and asks, “What happened?”

“Adam scheduling a load of collections all on the same day?” 

“Really? And that’s the only reason, is it?” he shifts until he’s leaning next to Aaron, his right side pressed all along Aaron’s left. “Nothing else stopping you from heading out and enjoying yourself?”

Aaron’s mouth pulls into a straight line, thoughtful. “Can’t think of anything, no.”

“Well, I can – if that’s the technique you use when you’re hoping to cop off,” Robert says, withdrawing a bit.

A scoff. “Like you’d know anything about it.”

“All right then,” he turns so that they’re facing each other. Challenges, “Give us a demonstration.”

Aaron stares at him. “You want to go somewhere so you can watch me pick up blokes?” He makes a face. “Bit weird.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” Robert holds up his beer bottle, tapping the neck of it with his index finger as a hint.

He watches as Aaron’s eyebrows draw together. “…you want me to pick _you_ up?”

_Yes_. 

He doesn’t know why, or where it’s come from – but once struck, the idea twangs through his body, vibrating low in his belly like a plucked guitar string. Aaron, watching him across some darkened bar. Eyeing him up with careful sidelong glances….striking up a conversation. Making a move.

“I’ll play hard to get and everything,” he promises.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

“Which should make it even easier for you,” he points out. 

Waits. 

“So…what’s the problem?” 

Aaron looks off to the side.

“Are you embarrassed? Come on – it’s easy. Just pretend like you’re in one of those pubs – in…” he snaps the fingers of his free hand, and keeps snapping them, eyebrows raised until, finally, Aaron gives in. His shoulders come up in irritation, but he fills in, “– Bar West.”

“Fine – you’re in Bar West, and you see me.”

“We’re not _in_ Bar West though.” The words hang between them.

“Yeah, I know that,” Robert says. “But – if we were. What would you say?”

Aaron considers it for a moment, taking another swig of his beer. “I suppose I’d start by asking what you’re doing in a gay bar.” There’s a small, definitive clink as he puts the bottle down.

The smile remains on Robert’s face, even as the humour behind it drains away. Aaron holds his gaze, issuing his own challenge. Robert keeps smiling. Yeah, okay, as scenarios go, it’s…unlikely.

Wouldn’t have killed Aaron to pretend, though, would it?

“Bit aggressive,” he says, deliberately obtuse. “If that’s really the best you’ve got, well…no wonder you’ll be spending tomorrow night alone.”

A silence falls and he tilts his head back, chasing the last bitter mouthful of his drink. When he drops the bottle back down by his side, Aaron is watching him.

He raises his shoulders in silent question, and – 

“Come home with me,” Aaron says.

The words are simple, but boldly laid out – _unequivocal_. A statement of want, coming from _Aaron_ – Aaron, whose surface ambivalence conceals a complicated Morse code made up of shrugs and silences. The juxtaposition gives the whole thing a charge that jolts right to Robert’s core. Even his breath comes out unsteady, and he has to turn it into a laugh. Aaron’s eyes are like hands, dragging over his skin. 

“Direct,” Robert muses finally, nodding a bit, as if he’s assessing a business strategy, lightening the moment. “Cards on the table. I suppose I can work with that.” He tilts his head to the side, body open in invitation.

“I mean it.” He doesn’t move, eyes fixed on Robert’s face. “We can go round the back. Mum’s over at Lisa’s.”

He can feel it, the slow tug of temptation. “What about Diane?” 

“Her and Doug are watching some boxset. Won’t be done for hours.”

“And if they decide to pack it in and have an early night instead?”

Aaron considers it. Shrugs and suggests, “Then – look on the bright side.”

“And what’s that?”

“At least it won’t be Andy walking in on us this time.”

He’s startled into another laugh, shaking his head. When he glances up, Aaron’s still watching him. 

He’s got his hands in his pockets. He should look casual. 

“Come home with me,” Aaron says again.

*****

He can hear the muffled sound of the television as Aaron closes the back door behind them. All according to plan for Doug and Diane, then. A quick glance at Robert, checking in, and then he’s leading the way, feet soft and quick on the stairs. Robert follows.

It feels at once very real, and at the same time, like this is all happening to someone else – as Aaron opens the door to his bedroom, and motions him inside. He turns on the lights, and Robert looks around, like a stranger would, at the patterned wallpaper, clothes in dark puddles on the floor, the hanging picture of a car – headed straight for them, by the looks of it. 

Aaron puts out his hand, laying it on the wood of the door, pressing it closed with a soft 

_click_

and turns, suddenly going still – except for his eyes, which roam Robert’s face as if he’s seeing him for the very first time. Like he really is one of those strangers from one of those bars.

But none of them are here right now, are they? Aaron hadn’t looked at anyone else and said _Come home with me_. It’s _Robert_ tonight – and tomorrow it’ll be no-one. This – it’s all for him. Just him.

He makes some small movement, shifts on his feet – and Aaron’s on him suddenly, a hand coming round the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. Aaron keeps his hand there, like he’s holding him in place, even as he awkwardly tries to strip Robert of his jacket and jumper.

Finally he stumbles back enough to say, as he manages to get his arm out of a sleeve, “This would probably go a lot quicker if I did it myself.”

“So?” Aaron asks. “You got anywhere else to be?” He doesn’t move away, two fingers of his other hand stuck down the waistband of Robert’s jeans.

Robert grins at him. “No. Nowhere else to be.”

And then he’s breathing all his affirmations into Aaron’s open mouth, distracted by the heat of his tongue, Aaron’s fingers digging into his back – the knuckles of his other hand curling against his stomach.

It takes a while, but finally, all the clothes get wrestled off, to join the rest on the floor – and the dreamlike feeling returns as Aaron pushes him down onto the bed. Robert goes easily…the press of a palm to his chest and then he’s looking up at Aaron as he kneels over him. 

Looking up at Aaron as he leans forward and off to the side, and pulls at one of the drawers by his bed. 

Looking up as he pushes Robert’s legs up, hooking his fingers around the back of Robert’s knees to settle them more firmly around him. 

Looking up at him while Aaron works his fingers inside of him, and then, his cock. 

Looking up at Aaron as Aaron looks back at him and starts to move. 

It’s not like him – like them. Usually, Robert’s front and centre, giving back as good as he’s getting…kissing, touching, grappling. But this time, he just – lies back and lets this happen. Lets Aaron do whatever he wants. It’s okay – it’s better than okay. He wants it too. 

Part of him feels outside the moment…aware of everything in a way that only seems to heighten the experience…like he’s absorbing every second with his body…holding on to it. Keeping it. 

He fits his hands to the creases of Aaron’s hips, slides them up his sides. He presses the pads of his fingers into the rounds of Aaron’s shoulders as he thrusts – feeling the strain as he holds himself up. His thumb dips into the hollow between Aaron’s collarbones, the skin there slick with sweat. Aaron’s beard rasps and prickles against his palm. He can feel the clench of Aaron’s jaw underneath.

Robert watches Aaron fuck him with a rough kind of sweetness, and through it all, Aaron looks back at him, gaze unbreakable. Right up until the very end, when Aaron’s face twists, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He shuts his eyes then, and a few seconds later he collapses, half on top of Robert, who immediately turns his head to get a blurred close-up of part of Aaron’s face. He’s still got his eyes closed. Robert waits for him to open them.

Instead, his hand slips down Robert’s stomach, fingers curling around his cock. Aaron jerks him off with fast, steady strokes, while his mouth moves slow and soft against Robert’s neck and shoulder. It all serves to stutter Robert’s focus into pieces – but Aaron must open his eyes at some point, because he knows enough to put a hand over Robert’s mouth when he starts to come. 

So afterwards, when he swims back to awareness, it’s to the salt of Aaron’s skin against the tip of his tongue, and Aaron’s eyes on him. He looks back for one breath. Two.

Robert smiles against his palm, and curls his fingers around Aaron’s wrist, pulling it away from his mouth, down his chest. “Good thinking,” he says, tapping the back of Aaron’s hand.

“Yeah, well, not my first time, is it?” Aaron says. He doesn’t move his hand from where Robert placed it, slightly off to the side, over his heart.

Robert slides his fingers up Aaron’s forearm. “Is this your idea of pillow talk?” he asks. “Because discussing your exes…not much of a turn on.” 

It comes out fairly mild, token snark if anything. He traces a meaningless pattern on Aaron’s skin. He’s the one who’s here now.

“I’m not stupid,” Aaron tells him, and it takes him a second to realise that Aaron’s not taking issue with the joke. Actually, he doesn’t properly get it until Aaron continues, oddly determined, like he’s proving a point, “I knew what it was, you know, right from the start.” 

Right. Not discussing _exes_ , so much as _the_ ex. 

Aaron blows out a frustrated sounding breath. “But he – I dunno. He’d do these things, and…” He’s staring up at the ceiling. “It just – felt like it could’ve been more, sometimes. That’s all.” 

Robert doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. He runs his thumb over the crease of Aaron’s elbow. It’s late. He needs to start thinking about getting dressed. Going home.

He trails the back of his fingers up Aaron’s arm, then down again, and lets his eyes slowly close. In a few more minutes.

*****

He comes back to awareness with a whole body start, back jerking against the mattress. His leg kicks out, smacking against Aaron’s shin – Aaron makes a displeased sound.

His heart is thumping. He pushes himself upright, fists digging into the mattress. Dim light leaks from the lamp by the door, the fussy fitting over the car picture. None of it helps him gauge the time. Fuck. How long has he been here? He didn’t mean to stay.

He gets to his feet, and starts grabbing his clothes off the floor. He finds his phone in his jacket – it’s ten minutes past three. Behind him, there’s the sound of the bed shifting. He keeps his eyes down and dresses as quickly as he can. 

“Back door’ll be locked by now.” Aaron’s voice makes him start. Robert turns to find him sitting up, back against the headboard, watching. He jerks his head. “Key’s over there.”

He takes the few steps over to the low table by the door – and picks up Aaron’s keyring from where he must have tossed it when they came in. Robert weighs the keys in his hand, and offers a slightly awkward, “Thanks.”

“Leave them in the door. I’ll lock up after.” There’s more movement behind him, and when he turns, Aaron’s got himself under the covers, facing away from him.

Right. Not going to escort Robert downstairs, then. Well. It’s probably no more than anyone else in this situation gets. Call it a lack of imagination, but Robert really can’t see any of Aaron’s randoms sitting down to breakfast with Chas the next morning. So. This is just…business as usual. Or it would be, if Robert were one of said randoms.

He stands there, but Aaron doesn’t turn, the line of his back like a wall. The edges of the keys dig into his palm. He feels like he should say something. But, “Right. I’ll…see you, then,” is all he can think of.

Even with the panicky feeling soaping up his guts, he waits for another couple of seconds. But that sense of connection from earlier is gone, and Aaron doesn’t even look at him, never mind reply.

Down the stairs as quiet as he can – trying not to disturb the heavy, middle-of-the-night silence. There’s a few minutes of fumbling with keys in the darkness, but finally, the right one turns in the lock and he’s out, closing the back door of The Woolpack behind him.

*****

Inside Keepers, and he’s already trying to work out how to spin a six pack in a draughty garage into a believable almost-all-nighter – so the soft, startling, “Are you just getting home now?” from his left actually makes him jump, fingers clenching.

Andy squints at him from the kitchen doorway. None of the lights are on, which only adds to the unexpectedness of the whole thing. Apparently, Aaron was wrong, and Andy doesn’t even _need_ to be at The Woolpack to catch him out. 

“What are you doing up?” Robert asks. It comes out accusatory.

“Thought I was supposed to be the one asking that,” Andy says. Then, “I couldn’t sleep – had a headache.”

“Practicing for tomorrow?” 

He half-smiles in acknowledgment, then lapses into silence. 

Figuring that that’s as good a place to leave this as any, Robert starts for the stairs. He only makes it to the second step before Andy says, suddenly, “How are things with Aaron?”

He turns back, and Andy holds up both hands. “I’m not winding you up. Just askin’.”

As if to prove the point, he waits, unmoving and patient, until Robert grits out, “Fine.”

“Good.”

“Any more questions – or can I go to bed?”

“Aaron’s nice.” Andy’s face is blueish-dark in the lack of light, unreadable. “If that’s what you like, well, you could do a lot worse.” He shrugs. “Probably have, knowing you.”

He holds his ground on the stairs. It actually helps, being physically higher than Andy. It makes it easier to say, “I’ve told you – it’s just a bit of fun.”

Andy nods, but says, “You know that…it’d be okay, though? If it wasn’t?”

“Andy” – 

“Just – I’d support you, whatever it is you decide you want. Whether that’s Chrissie, or – someone else.” 

“Yeah, well, appreciate the sentiment, but Chrissie’s not exactly beating down my door these days.” He smiles a tight, nothing-smile before turning on the stairs, indicating that the conversation is over.

“Don’t see you beating down hers, either,” he hears Andy say quietly behind him.

*****

When he descends to the kitchen the next morning, gritty-eyed after too little sleep, Vic aims a wide smile at him, and he braces himself. But –

“Good morning,” is all she says, obnoxiously upbeat.

“Morning,” he says warily, as he pulls out a seat.

“Tea? Kettle’s hot.” Vic’s already pouring, so he saves his agreement.

A few seconds later, and she presents him with a steaming mug, before sliding onto another chair.

He blows on his tea, and meets Vic’s eyes. She’s got her chin propped in her hand and she’s watching him with this soft expression.

“What?” he says.

She’s still smiling as she widens her eyes. “Nothing.”

*****

In the end, he puts it down to the excitement of the upcoming night out. Because – in the absence of Vic actually opening her mouth to disabuse him of that notion – honestly, it’s just easier.

Apart from that, it’s an uneventful day. He shoots off a text to Aaron, but doesn’t get a reply. It’s fine. He’s busy with collections today. He’s said. Robert still checks his phone every so often though. After last night, there’s this lingering sense of unease inside him. He tries not to examine it too closely, does his best to ignore it, even though it refuses to fade away.

According to Vic’s decree, the night begins with a drink in The Woolpack, before the taxi is scheduled to whisk them into Hotten. So, at roughly the right time Robert makes his way across the street and into the pub – and nearly gets a door to the face as someone decides to exit at the same time.

“Oh, I’m so s” – begins a familiar voice, only to die away.

Great. He hasn’t seen Paddy Kirk since Wednesday night. He supposes it was too good to last.

“Sorry,” Paddy says. He sounds and looks abashed. “I didn’t realise you were on the other side.”

“Yeah, well maybe take a bit more care next time, Hagrid,” he says, raising his eyebrows as he waits for Paddy to step out of the way.

Instead, his face sets like a particularly determined jelly. “I owe you an apology.”

“You just gave me one,” Robert reminds him.

“Not for…” Paddy flaps his hand, indicating the present moment. “For – before. No matter what my feelings are about…y’know…I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Robert wonders if it’s innate guilt talking, or whether Aaron’s had that talk with him. If he has…well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it? 

“It was a lucky shot,” Robert tells Paddy, because there’s no need for him to go on like he put Robert in traction or something. 

“Well, anyway…” Paddy points his index finger, gesturing in an odd, criss-crossing motion over the lower half of his own face. “…your mouth looks good,” he finishes. 

Robert stares at him for a second before pushing past. 

Inside, Vic (in a purple dress that dips in the front) and Andy (light coloured smart shirt, dark jeans) are already seated with Diane and Doug, and supplied with drinks. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, with a nudge to Vic’s shoulder. She shrugs and says, “I told you to be here for half-past.”

Andy moves over, leaving a space for him, and Diane looks between them, a smile misting her face. “D’you know something? There was a time when I never thought I’d see you three together like this. And now – just look at you.”

She says ‘you three’. She _means_ ‘you and Andy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s early yet,” Robert tells her, because Diane looks like she’s moments away from whipping out a camera and recording the occasion for posterity. Like it’s his and Andy’s first day at school or something. It’s just a night out – not _that_ big a deal.

Vic however, is having none of it. “Er – excuse me? Less of the negativity, thanks. Now go – get yourself a drink.”

She gives him a little push and he gets to his feet again, and aims himself at the bar – his step hitching briefly as he realises that Aaron’s sitting up at the counter.

Robert angles in next to him and calls, “Pint please, Chas.”

Over at the other end of the bar, she smiles one of those wide, insincere smiles at him, and tells him, “I live to serve.”

While she’s pulling his pint, he studies Aaron’s side profile. “How did your collections go?”

He shrugs and takes a drink from the half-empty glass in front of him. “Fine.”

“Good.”

That’s it, until Chas deposits his drink in front of him and lingers, finally prompting, “This is the part where you give me money. In case you’ve forgotten.”

He digs in his pocket and tells her, “Keep the change.”

“I’ll try not to spend it all in one place,” she says, as she clacks over to the till.

He turns toward Aaron again, who asks, sounding supremely disinterested, “Shouldn’t you be getting back?”

“Yeah, in a minute. But I just – I wanted to say sorry. For last night.”

“What about it?”

He takes a breath in. “For not staying.” It hadn’t been stated, but the shift from sleepy warmth to this current ice age had been so abrupt that it’s not hard to make the deduction. 

Aaron pulls a face, like he’s got no idea what Robert’s talking about. “You never said you were.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

It’s hard to find the words to make this right, with Aaron fronting like nothing’s wrong, yet treating him with arms-length coldness. 

He settles for saying, “Just seems like I might’ve done something to upset you. That’s all.” 

“Well you haven’t. It’s fine, Robert,” Aaron says, even though it’s clearly not. Unbidden, Andy’s words rise up in his mind - _it can’t be that much fun for him, can it? You sneaking around all the time like he’s something to be ashamed of._

It casts a very different slant to Aaron’s story last night, about his ex. Makes it seem less like a confidence, and more like ( _you probably don’t need to worry about Aaron hanging around for that much longer_ ) – a warning. And he hears it, once again…

_How long d’you think you can keep this up for, really_? 

His jaw tenses. Who cares about some ‘how long’ that’s in the nebulous future? What matters is that he can keep this going right _now_. 

Which – of course he can.

And he _will_. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, with sudden desperation-infused inspiration about how to make it up to Aaron. “About last night. And – we should do it. For real. Go out…have dinner, a few drinks – the lot.”

Aaron finally looks at him. Granted, it’s more of a frown than anything else, but it’s a start. 

“You choose the place,” Robert says. Three women approach the counter…and he takes the opportunity to press in closer to Aaron – to drop a hand on his arm and squeeze. He lowers his voice. “Think about it.” 

Then he takes hold of his pint and makes his way back to the group where Doug is holding forth about “– the sheer number of historical inaccuracies. It’s shocking.”

“The costumes are lovely though,” Diane says. “Not that I’m advocating for a return to corsets or anything, but it’s nice to see a bit of glamour every once in a while.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you for that,” Doug tells her. 

Vic awws, and Diane laughs, but looks pleased. “Come on, flatterer. Us old fogies should pack up, and let this lot off.” She smiles around the table and tells Robert, Vic and Andy, “Enjoy your night.”

“Come on, drink up,” Vic urges Robert, as Diane makes good on her words and leads Doug through to the back. He lifts his pint and pulls his eyes away from the back of Aaron’s head. “Sorry, didn’t realise we had to drink to a set schedule.”

“We do if we want to be ready in time for the taxi,” she says, then raises her wineglass. “But we’ve still got time for a toast.” 

She clears her throat and intones, “To an epic night out – with my big brothers.”

As they clink glasses, he meets Aaron’s eyes over Vic’s shoulder, before Aaron turns back to the counter.

“There you go – _that’s_ more like it,” she says. “Now just keep smiling – it’s not that hard.”

*****

They start off in a low-key little winebar.

“Epic,” Robert says, looking around. It’s mostly couples, with a larger group of women at a long table, several of whom are wearing festive headgear. 

“Are you complaining already?” Vic asks. “We’re pacing ourselves. This is just our first stop.” She peruses the menu. “Plus – appetizers.”

Admittedly, the chicken and vegetable spring rolls _are_ very good, though the conversation mostly revolves around Christmas-in-France, and the necessity of locating a specific pair of trainers for Sarah.

In a shocking twist, Andy even goes up to order a second glass of red.

“Ask one of the waiters,” Robert tells him, but he shakes his head. “They’re busy.”

“Yeah, but that’s why they’re called ‘servers’.” 

But Andy pulls his hand down, and insists, “I don’t mind. We’re right next to the bar.”

But as if enacting some kind of cosmic ‘I told you so’, once handed his order, Andy promptly turns and spills his Merlot over one of the festive women queueing up behind him. 

The wine spreads like a pinkish wound all over the bottom of her – of course – white top. She gasps in shock, while Vic echoes the noise in sympathy. 

“Oh – I’m really sorry,” Andy says, free hand coming out to catch her arm and steady them both.

“It’s…all right,” she says, even as she holds the hem of her top out from her skin with a grimace. “It was bound to happen at some stage with that lot, anyway.” The silver balls on her hairband bob wildly as she nods back toward her table.

“Christmas party?” Robert asks, as Vic slips off her seat, proffering napkins.

“Yeah, staff night out. What gave it away?” The festive woman wipes at the stain, but tells Andy, “Seriously, don’t worry about it. A glass of white, and it’s sorted.”

“You know, I’ve always heard that, but – does white wine really get rid of red wine stains?” Vic asks.

“Actually…I meant you could buy me a drink,” she says, eyes flicking to Andy.

Andy blinks.

“Of course!” Vic looks between him and the festive, wine-splotched woman. “He’d love to!” 

The festive woman says. “I’m drinking Chardonnay.” Her silver balls quiver joyfully. 

“Great!” Vic raises her eyebrows in a significant kind of semaphore. “ _Andy_ – why don’t you get a glass of Chardonnay, while…” her eyebrows turn to interrogate the festive woman.

“Oh, um, Evie,” she supplies.

“– while _Evie_ comes to the toilets with me. I’m sure we can get some of that out.”

And so, they end up sitting with Evie-from-Administration as she slowly sips her wine and makes small talk. She’s got fine dark hair and a small bump on the bridge of her nose – and she smiles so much and so often that it starts to come off as anxious rather than the ‘confident’ Robert assumes she’s going for. She’s all right.

Eventually, her table starts to collect purses and push back chairs, and two of the festive women come to inform her that they’re moving on. 

“Right. Well, I’d better…” Evie says, smiling one of those too long smiles that lingers on Andy.

“I’m sorry – again,” Andy tells her.

“It’s fine, honestly,” she says. And awkwardly, as she stands, “Well…”

“It was really nice to meet you,” Vic says. And then, “Where are you heading next?”

“Not sure,” Evie says, then hesitates, before offering, with a sidelong look at Andy, “Some of us’ll probably end up in The Forum, though.”

“What a coincidence,” Vic says, with exaggerated surprise. She smiles. “Maybe we’ll see you there?”

The silver balls wobble in agreement.

“She seems nice,” Vic says, eyes fixed on Andy as Evie catches up to her festive colleagues, and they all pile out of the wine bar. “I don’t think _I’d_ be that chill about it if someone spilled their drink all over me.”

Andy doesn’t say anything.

Ten minutes later, Robert holds the door as they make their exit, and gives a last glance around. _Arcadia Wine Bar_. It’s a nice enough place, and the food’s good…it might be worth mentioning to Aaron – if he’s not already got somewhere in mind for the meal part of their night out. 

Coat pulled tight around her, Vic informs them that a bar called The Extra Mile is next on the agenda, and they down several more drinks at a busy, buzzy little pub with strategically placed mirrors on the wall that make it seem bigger than it really is.

“Well? What d’you think?” Vic challenges Robert.

“I think it’s a bar,” he tells her, and pantomimes shock. “I’m blown away.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah – and you’re also getting the next round.”

By the time they wander out onto the street again though, Andy’s making sounds about being tired. 

“No!” Vic grabs his arm. “You can’t go home early – what’s a night out without dancing?”

“It’s been a long week,” he says.

“Andy,” she gives him a stern glance, “You just got back from France, spending time with your kids – who you hadn’t seen in _months_. Are you telling me that’s not worth celebrating?”

“Of course it is, but” –

“ _And_ not only that, but Debbie invited you out there again for Christmas.” The sternness melts into wheedling. “Come on – if you’re not gonna be home for the real thing, the least you can do is have a bit of a knees up with your brother and sister before you leave…right, Rob?”

She reaches out and pulls Robert close – two against one. “You’re not gonna win this one,” he tells Andy.

*****

As soon as they get inside The Forum, Vic decides, with drink-fuzzed logic, that Sambuca shots are the answer.

“They’ve got coffee in them,” she tells Andy, before leaning on the counter to attract the attention of one of the barmen. 

The bass thumps loudly, and it’s packed and hot – he and Andy and Vic keep getting crowded closer and closer together as people squeeze past. It comes as a surprise when Evie-from-Administration actually manages to find them in the crush – but she does, tapping Vic on the back and putting her hand up to give a self-conscious wave. She’s no longer wearing the festive hairband, though the two women flanking her still have theirs.

“I’m so glad!” Vic calls out. “I was hoping we’d meet up again!”

Introductions are made – though Robert doesn’t catch the name of either glitter-topped woman, and their group suddenly doubles in size. Not that it makes much of a difference. Evie’s friends seem to take an almost clinical interest in getting drunk as quickly as possible, and most of their attention is divided between each other and their Smirnoff Ices.

Evie starts a conversation with Andy, though due to the noise levels, it almost immediately devolves into hand-gestures – with head-shakes of incomprehension on Andy’s end. After a few minutes of this, she takes the plunge and steps closer, to speak directly into his ear. And – 

“Let’s dance,” Vic decides suddenly, tugging Robert away as Evie’s hand comes up to Andy’s shoulder, steadying herself. 

They push their way onto the dance floor – a pulsing miasma of perfumes and body-heat. There isn’t much room to move, but they find a pocket of space and make do, swaying and bobbing and trying not to get in anyone else’s way. Robert attempts to twirl Vic, and narrowly avoids getting a high heel to the toe as the girl to his right stumbles. It’s loud and stifling, sweat sticking his shirt to his back.

Vic grins at him, and pulls on his arm. “You’re having a good time – admit it,” she shouts into his ear. Pink light flashes over her face. 

“It’s alright,” he yells back. 

“You’re having a good time!” she repeats. “And _I’m_ having a good time!” She turns a bit. “And Andy’s” – 

She stops, and Robert twists around to see Andy and Evie nose to nose. Or maybe more accurately – tongue to tongue. 

“ – having a good time!” he finishes for her – but this is the point at which Andy abruptly breaks free, stepping back, only to turn around and start shoving through knots of people like he can’t get away fast enough. 

“…oh no,” Vic says.

“It’s all right – I’ll go after him,” Robert says.

He starts elbowing his way in the direction Andy disappeared – head turning to the left and the right…but there’s no sign. Either Andy’s left the club, or – 

A bloke pushes his way out of the men’s room, and Robert ducks in. There are men at the urinals, one coming out of a stall, and over by the sinks – Andy. 

Robert steps toward him. “You all right?”

Andy shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. Another bloke moves to the sink next to theirs to wash his hands.

“What happened?” 

Andy shakes his head again. The bloke flicks his fingers and moves on. “I can’t do it,” he says.

“Can’t do what? Looked like you were doing just fine to me,” Robert says. He casts a quick glance around. All right, it’s quieter in here than out by the bar, but still – he wishes Andy could’ve found a better place for this conversation. “Listen, I get that it’s hard, moving on. Taking that step. But it’s not like this is the first time for you.”

He scrutinises Andy carefully. “I mean, I’m assuming you and Tracy did more than just hold hands.”

“It’s not that.” Slowly, Andy turns to face him. “Just…I’ve never – been with anyone who didn’t already know. About Katie.”

Robert frowns. “What?”

“She doesn’t know about Katie.” Andy’s shoulders come up. “When do I tell her? And – what am I supposed to say? ‘You seem nice, but I’m only here with you because my wife’s dead?’”

Behind Andy, a lad in a green plaid shirt makes a face as he overhears and veers around them, leaving the bathroom without washing his hands.

“Well – I wouldn’t lead with that,” Robert tells him. Andy stares down at his fingers, grasping at the edge of the sink, knuckles white.

“You don’t have to figure it all out right away, y’know,” Robert tells him, as gently as he can. “I don’t think there are any rules for this.”

He touches Andy’s shoulder. “Maybe just – try and work it out as you go along.”

He waits, and finally Andy nods, but all he says is, “Vic’ll be wondering where we’ve got to.”

“Yeah – not very epic, us holing up in here,” Robert agrees, watching as the door opens, sending a fresh wave of blokes heading toward the urinals. 

Outside the toilets, they retrace their steps, until they find Vic waiting just off the dance floor. She tries to smile, but she looks a bit wobbly and tearful. There’s no sign of Evie, or her festive backups. 

“Are you all right?” she asks Andy.

“I’m fine,” Andy says. He shrugs. “Just…I don’t know. It got a bit…”

“D’you wanna go home? We can go home if you want.” 

His eyes flick to Robert before he looks back at her. He shakes his head. 

“Thought you said we were celebrating?” he says, and manages a smile.

*****

It gets better after that, Andy more relaxed – or at the very least, determined to ensure that Vic enjoys her night, and they end up staying until the final song, the dance floor so packed that Vic is reduced to bouncing in place to the beat.

“I love that song,” she says afterwards, as they hand over their tickets and collect their coats. They join the slow surge of bodies toward the front door, and Vic pokes Robert in the chest. “Admit it – this was an amazing night out.”

“I told you. It was alright,” Robert says, amused by her resulting indignant huff. 

“It _was_ good though, wasn’t it?” she appeals to Andy, abruptly sounding worried.

Andy, who is at this stage the closest one to sobriety, tells her, “I had a really great time, Vic.”

“ _Thank you_ , Andy,” she says, as they spill out onto the footpath in front of the club. “I told’ja – it’s a Sugcess. A Suckden…something.”

Her hair’s flatter, sticking to her forehead, and she’s got specks of glitter on her cheeks. Robert folds his arms against the cold, ground swaying slightly under his feet. 

“We’d better sort out a taxi,” Andy decides, as he looks around at the gradually dispersing crowd. 

“Don’t look,” Vic says, too loud, and he and Robert turn to find Evie-from-Administration a few metres away. She twists her head to the side immediately, as her friends huddle closer.

“Taxi?” Robert reminds Andy, who’s gone very still.

“Sorry, just…give me a minute,” he tells them – and walks over. 

He says something to Evie before pulling her aside, and Vic wraps an arm around Robert, as they watch them (mostly Andy) talk. A few minutes later, and he seems to have finished, dropping his hands. Evie nods, and squeezes his arm before leaning up to kiss him – on the cheek. They talk for another minute before Andy starts to detach himself. 

Vic’s frowning distantly in their direction when Robert glances down to check her reaction.

“He’ll be okay, Vic,” he says, pulling her closer in reassurance.

“Chips,” she says suddenly. “We should get chips.”

*****

Vic only manages a few vinegar soaked chips from the carton, before offering the rest to him and Andy. Robert takes two, but each one causes his stomach to give an unpleasant twinge, so Andy gamely eats a few before disposing of the rest of the carton.

“’s a proper night out now,” Vic says, as they walk away from the harshly lit chippy – and across the road, he sees it. White and green on a blue background. _Bar West_. It’s all dark and closed up by now, but. He studies it, draws in a breath of cold air to puff out his chest. He could do that, definitely. If he has to.

“C’mon,” Vic links his arm, forcing him forwards. “Home.”

*****

Except it’s not quite that simple.

“How much longer?” Robert asks, and Andy shrugs. “A while yet.”

“Oh brilliant. Really specific,” Robert says, hunching his shoulders against the cold. He’s tired now, right down to his tongue – he’s got a nagging suspicion the word ‘specific’ didn’t come out right.

“It’s always like this. Sorry, but we’ve just got to wait for the taxi – that’s all there is to it.”

“Or,” Vic says, “ _Adam_ could drive us home.”

“Vic, he’s not gonna want a phone call at half three in the morning.”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” she says, as she digs her phone out of her purse. Carefully, she presses the call button – and it rings.

And rings.

“Don’t believe this,” Vic pulls the phone back and looks at it, as she’s put through to voicemail. “Bet you he’s gone’n left it on the kitchen table.”

She looks at Andy and Robert. “Grounds for divorce. Right there.”

“Yeah well, the taxi shouldn’t be too much longer,” Andy says, without much hope. But Robert’s done. He’s tired and cold and drunkish – and he’s not waiting any longer on some alleged cab.

Besides, he already knows just how to fix this.

“I’m gonna call Aaron,” he announces, phone already in his hand. “Aaron’s got a car.”

Vic blinks at him, mouth dropping open. “Aaron’s got a car,” she repeats, like Robert’s just dropped the meaning of life into conversation. “ _Aaron’s_ got a car.”

“Or maybe we should just wait for the taxi, yeah?” Andy says, motioning at Robert to put down his mobile.

“No!” she says to Andy. “We should call _Aaron_. _Robert_ should call Aaron!” She turns back to Robert, placing her hands on his chest – and shoving him emphatically. “ _You_ should _call Aaron_.”

“I’m trying,” Robert complains, as he steadies himself. He touches a finger to the first name in his contacts – and a few seconds later a familiar, sleepy voice grunts, “What?” in his ear.

*****

It’s not long, but by the time Aaron pulls up on the street, Vic is leaning against the nearest wall, absently la-la-ing the chorus to a song Robert doesn’t know, while Andy’s descended into frowning silence, arms crossed. Robert’s eyes are heavy. It’s a relief when the car comes to a stop and Aaron rolls the window down.

“Get in,” he says.

It takes Robert a few seconds to lever himself totally upright – by which time, Andy’s helped Vic into the back, and claimed the passenger seat for himself.

Robert opens his mouth to complain, but Aaron says, voice lower and grittier than usual, “ _Robert_ , get in now, or I’m going without you.”

He slides in next to Vic.

“She’s not gonna get sick, is she?” Aaron asks, eyeing his sister with concern.

“M’fine,” she says.

“I’m sorry about this,” Andy says in front, as the indicator tick-tick-ticks and the car pulls out. “We shouldn’t have phoned you this late.”

“You didn’t,” Aaron points out.

“Well – thanks anyway,” he says, before the conversation segues into murmurings about the Hotten taxi service. 

In the back, Robert mostly tunes it out, while Vic leans against his shoulder. As they pass under the orange streetlights, he catches a flash of Aaron’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

He smiles, and drops his head to rest on top of Vic’s.

*****

Andy unlocks the door to Keepers, while Robert wakes Vic and Aaron helps him pull her out of the car.

“Think you can take it from here?” Aaron asks, when she’s upright on the path.

“No!” Vic says, before Robert has a chance to. She winds her arm through Aaron’s and tells him, “No – you should come in! Rob’ll make you a cup’v tea. Won’t you, Rob?”

“Definitely,” Robert says. Vic doesn’t release her hold – and so Aaron ends up in the kitchen, standing next to Robert while Vic beams. 

Andy shifts from foot to foot. He flits a look between all of them before deciding, “Well…I’m off to bed.” He reaches out to tap Aaron on the shoulder, a bit awkward. “Cheers again. For the lift.”

“I’m going too,” Vic says, as they listen to Andy’s feet slowly ascend the stairs. She looks at them and widens her eyes. “Have a good time!”

Aaron shakes his head at the floor as she leaves. When he finally looks up, he raises his eyebrows at Robert. “Good night?” 

“Mm,” he agrees, then reaches out to pull him closer – Aaron stumbles as if caught by surprise. Robert grins and leans in, “Better now.”

“Robert” – Aaron gets his hands on his chest and holds him back.

“Come on,” Robert says. When Aaron turns his head to the side to avoid him, he changes tack and kisses his neck, the skin there warm under his mouth. “Been thinking about you all night.”

“I’ll bet,” Aaron says dryly – but Robert finally gets a proper kiss in. He hums against Aaron’s lips in appreciation, and pushes him back against the ugly blue cabinet. Behind Aaron’s head, he can see sauce bottles through the striped glass, and for some reason the sight makes a laugh bubble up in his chest as he presses forward for another kiss.

There’s the sound of someone coming downstairs again – and Aaron hurriedly pushes him away.

“S’only me – just gett’n some water,” Vic says. As she gets a glass and fills it, he attempts to step to the side, to increase the distance between them. Robert follows him, his arm coming round Aaron’s back to keep them shoulder to shoulder, hand resting low on Aaron’s hip. Aaron glares at him and he grins.

Vic turns from the sink, clutching her nearly full glass, and pauses. Her free hand comes up to touch her chest. 

“’M _so_ glad you’re here,” she tells Aaron, before pulling him into a hug. Water slops onto the floor and his shoes and Aaron grimaces but endures it, hands down straight by his sides. “All right,” he says.

“And _you_ ,” Vic turns to Robert with shining eyes, before flinging herself at him. He rubs at her back and she sniffs a bit before pulling back. 

“Right,” she says to them. She takes a deep breath. “M _really_ done now.”

As she clumps up the stairs for (hopefully) the last time, Robert catches hold of Aaron’s hand. “Come on,” he says.

*****

His mouth moves slow against Aaron’s on the sofa, but his eyes are closed, and every so often he forgets, drifting off for a moment, only to come back to awareness when Aaron shifts – and he remembers to start kissing again. It’s a bit vague and sloppy, definitely not his best performance, but he doesn’t care.

Aaron puts up with it for a couple of minutes, before putting a hand on his shoulder to push him away. “I’m going now,” he tells him, and stands. 

Robert slumps against the back of the sofa, and grabs for Aaron’s arm. He misses. 

“Come upstairs,” he says.

Aaron stills. “Yeah?”

Robert fights to keep his eyes open, and reaches out again. This time he’s successful, and he tangles their fingers together. “Yeah. I want you to.” He pulls on Aaron’s hand. “And _you_ want to. So…”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, and Robert pulls again. “Stay,” he says.

He looks at Robert and smiles a bit. “Don’t think I could deal with the headache,” he says, gently easing his hand out of Robert’s grip. He bites his lip. “But – another time, yeah?”

Robert makes a discontented sound, and lets himself droop to the side, so that his whole upper body is lying on the couch, head pillowed on the arm rest. He closes his eyes.

“ _Robert_? Rob – did you hear me? Ask me another time, all right? Robert?”

Robert swats a hand at Aaron’s voice, before putting one of the owl cushions over his face. Half-asleep, he feels a touch on his shoulder, and after that – nothing.

*****

He wakes hours later, cramped from his position on the sofa, the pink blanket that’s thrown over him no real shield from the cold. It’s light, but no-one’s up, and he stiffly makes his way upstairs and into his own bed.

It’s nearly four o’ clock by the time he wakes again, feeling like his whole body’s been tenderised, head and face still weakly pounding.

In the kitchen, Vic’s up and moving – a bit zombie-ish and abnormally quiet, but otherwise not bad. Robert heads straight for the painkillers. There’s a pillowcase soaking in the sink. 

“Forgot to take off my makeup.” Vic says as she pulls out a chair. Robert makes a face at the scrape and takes a drink of water, soaking it up like a sponge. “Sign of a good night,” she adds, even as she drops her head onto her crossed arms.

It’s blissfully silent for a few minutes, before Vic turns her face to the side to peer up at him and asks, “’R you meeting Aaron this evening?”

“What? I dunno. Why?”

“I wanted to thank him for driving us home last night.”

“I’ll tell him.” Robert takes another drink.

“It was really nice of him,” Vic says, studying him. “Picking us up at that hour.”

Robert makes a non-committal sound of agreement. 

“So, actually, if you think about it, just _saying_ ‘thank you’s a bit – cheap, isn’t it?”

“What d’you want me to do? Give him a tip?”

“No, but you _can_ ask him to come round for breakfast tomorrow morning,” Vic says. She shifts on her chair and blows out a breath. “I should be all right by then.”

*****

He leans back against a Nissan Micra to relay Vic’s invitation. “Eleven?” he says.

“All right. Sounds good,” Aaron says. He keeps fiddling with the Allegro, because it’s quite obvious that Robert hasn’t shaken off the night before. Remaining upright and holding a haphazard conversation is a real achievement – and Robert has never been so glad for Aaron’s mile-wide antisocial streak. 

He lets his eyes close. 

“Still tired?” Aaron asks.

“Mm,” he agrees. Though also, it saves him from having to look at the Allegro.

“D’you even remember last night?” 

“Of course I do. I wasn’t _that_ gone,” Robert says. Then belatedly, as he realises what this is probably about, “Sorry. For phoning.”

“S’alright,” Aaron brushes it aside, sounding a bit absent.

He hears and feels movement, and when he opens his eyes, Aaron’s standing right in front of him. “D’you remember what you said to me? On the sofa?”

Robert frowns. “What?”

“Last night. You asked me to come upstairs. To stay.”

A vague recollection ripples back to him. 

“Did I?” Aaron nods, and he smiles. “Well…you know what that means.”

He looks at Robert. “What?”

“Means we’re overdue for a dirty weekend.” He runs a finger down Aaron’s chest, hooking it in the neck of his t-shirt and pulling it away from his skin. “What d’you say?”

Aaron looks down and off to the side with a shake of his head, a small begrudging smile on his face. 

“C’mon. No interruptions this time – promise.” He murmurs into Aaron’s ear, “Just you…and me…”

To his surprise, Aaron kisses him – just a quick soft thing – before giving him a push toward the door. 

“Go on, before you fall over,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

*****

True to her predictions, Vic is back to her regular self on Sunday morning – if anything, she’s more cheerful than usual, humming as she pokes at the frying sausages, and the pan spits fat at her. Robert eyes her but accepts his plate, while Andy just loads his own and sits.

“I’m the one who held your hair back,” Adam says when he clatters into the kitchen. “How come I don’t get this kind of spread?”

“Get yourself a plate – I’m not denyin’ you,” Vic says. Adam wraps his arms around her, and kisses her temple. “No can do, babe. Mum called – wants a hand with something.”

“What?” Andy asks.

“Don’t know – I’m just the unpaid labour,” Adam says as he grabs a slice of bread and folds a rasher into it. “I’ll see you later.”

He ducks away, only to nearly collide with Aaron as he enters. “See? If you want this one to show up on time, just promise him food.” A bit of fancy footwork and a thump to Aaron’s shoulder and he’s finally off, slamming the door behind him. 

“You made it,” Vic says, in welcome. “Well – don’t just stand there! Come over here and tell me what you’d like.”

With a glance in Robert’s direction, he does so, and few minutes later, he and Vic are sitting at the long end of the table, equipped with overloaded plates. There’s a brief cutlery filled pause, before Vic starts.

“I know Robert’s probably said it already – at least, I hope he has, but...thanks for picking us up Friday night. You were a lifesaver.”

“Yeah – thanks,” Andy says, and smiles. “I think we’d still be standing there if it was down to Hotten Cabs.”

“Speaking of – cabs…cars…how’s the big restoration going?” she asks, as she spears a mushroom.

“All right.” 

Vic smiles encouragingly, nodding as she waits for more.

“Yeah,” Aaron says. He shovels a forkful of egg into his mouth. “Fine.”

In his defence, in spite of the casual fry-up-between-friends trappings, there is something weirdly ceremonial about the whole situation – exactly the kind of atmosphere that causes Aaron to roll up in a ball, spikes extended. 

Robert watches, amused. He _could_ help Aaron out, of course, but there’s something fun in seeing him so awkwardly out of his element, so instead…

He concentrates on cutting his rasher to pieces, while underneath the table, he hooks his foot around the back of Aaron’s ankle. Due to the vagaries of sharing a house with three other people and only one bathroom, Robert’s still in pajamas, and his feet are bare. 

Against his toes, he can feel Aaron’s leg tense. At the same time head jerks, eyes darting toward Robert, who looks back inquiringly, and raises his fork to his mouth. Aaron’s leg gives a kind of jolt backwards, evidently intended to dislodge him, and Robert subsides, though he presses his foot down on top of Aaron’s shoe before withdrawing completely. He butters some toast and tries to iron away the smile that wants to curl the corners of his mouth. 

Meanwhile, Vic keeps lifting up stones and finding small talk. Chas’ latest problem with one of the deliverymen. Business in the scrapyard. The just-mounted search for Diane’s Christmas present. 

Andy chimes in a few times, but for the most part Aaron just puts his head down, shoulders hunched, and ferries ever increasing loads of food to his mouth until there’s nothing left. 

“Thanks,” he says to Vic, as she takes his plate. 

“Glad you enjoyed it,” she says. “Actually, Aaron – would you mind giving us a hand tidying up?” She glances over at Robert and says, in that same carefully careless voice, “Rob – do you still want to have a shower? Because the water’s hot enough now.”

“I’m all right, thanks,” he says, eyes narrowing. 

“Well…” she seems momentarily lost for words before she recovers and flaps a tea towel in his direction, “At least get dressed! Go on!”

She ushers him away with hummingbird flicks of her hands, and doesn’t stop until he’s actually out of the room. He waits for a second or two, but all he hears is, “Can you pass me that plate?” and the sound of scraps being scraped into the bin. Ears still pricked, he heads toward his bedroom.

He throws on his clothes – underwear-jeans-shirt-jumper – as quickly as he can, before slowly and quietly making his way half-way down the stairs, where, sure enough, the conversation has moved on to something more interesting. 

“– don’t think it’s the right time,” Aaron says, oddly forceful.

“Vic, maybe he’s got a point.”

“Then tell me – when _will_ it be the right time? In another few weeks? Months? A couple of years down the road? Face it, there’s never gonna _be_ a right time, and that’s why we should do it _now_. You can’t go on forever with this big secret hanging over both of you. Don’t you want to be honest, Aaron?”

More interesting – and wildly _confusing_. He’d planned on strategically interrupting Vic in the middle of one of her cross-examination ‘chats’. But _this_ …really doesn’t seem like that. Robert eases himself down another step as they continue arguing. 

“Of course I do – but…not right now. If you’d just wait – a few more days even” – 

“Sounds okay to me,” Andy says. “I mean, a few more days…it can’t do any harm, can it? To be honest – I’m not sure we should be doing this at all.” 

“No,” Vic says. “I’m sorry, Aaron, but – I’m _tired_ of waiting. I’m tired of secrets, and pretending, and lying to the people I care about. I can’t do it anymore.” 

Robert’s forehead creases up, because _what the fuck_?

Her voice softens. “I know after what happened before…you’re probably expecting the worst. Believe me, I felt exactly the same way for ages. But this whole week I’ve been watching him – and it’s gonna be okay. I mean, yeah, it’s Rob, so I won’t say it’s gonna be _easy_ or anything, but – he’ll get over it. I _know_ he will.”

There’s a silence, before Aaron bites out, “What’s the point in talking? You’ve obviously made your mind up.”

“If I _really_ thought it’d make a difference, I’d hold off,” Vic says. “But trust me…you’ll both be happier for this.”

There’s a kind of flurried sound, and Robert kicks into gear, descending the rest of the stairs as if he’s only just come out of his room – as Aaron exits the kitchen at speed.

“Hey – where are you off to?” Robert asks, almost bumping into him. “Everything all right?”

He tries to catch Aaron’s eyes, but Aaron keeps looking off to the side. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Completely believable,” Robert notes. He lowers his voice. “Aaron – what is it?”

He finally looks at Robert, but just shakes his head – so now it’s Robert saying, “Fine,” and not meaning it. See how Aaron likes it.

He turns to step into the kitchen, but Aaron stops him with a, “Robert,” and a hand on his arm.

Robert waits, but in the end, all Aaron says is, “I’ll be at the garage. Usual time.” He looks like he wants to add something else, but instead he turns away. 

Robert watches the door close – if this keeps up, he’s going to have a permanently confused expression on his face. 

Inside the kitchen Vic has a cloth in her hand, and when Robert comes in she starts wiping down the already-clean table. 

“That was quick,” she says. Robert looks at her – and then at Andy, over by the sink, arms folded and if possible, doing an even worse job of feigning casualness.

“What’s going on?”

“What d’you mean?” Vic asks.

He just stares at her.

The cloth drops. “All right,” she says, and straightens up. “This isn’t exactly how I planned on doing this, but” –

“Vic,” Andy says quietly.

She ignores him, and pulls out a chair. “I think you should sit down.”

Robert doesn’t move. “I’m fine where I am, thanks.” He breaks the brief silence that follows with a, “Well?”

Vic breathes out. “I wanted to talk about – you and Aaron.”

“What?”

Up until ten minutes ago, it’s exactly what he would’ve expected. But coming after all the dark talk of ‘big secrets’, lies and life-shattering pretence – Vic’s sudden return to the status quo completely throws him. 

“It just…seems like the two of you are really close, lately.”

“Yeah, well, we’re mates,” Robert says, snapping each word out crisp and clean – no room for argument.

Unless you’re his sister, of course. “And that’s all it is?”

“Are you seriously asking me this?” She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take the question back. Just waits for him to answer. “What – just because I hang out with someone who’s gay, I’ve got to be sleeping with them?” 

He can’t help it, his eyes flicker toward Andy – who is staring down at the floor. “That’s a bit – homophobic, isn’t it? To just assume that Aaron must’ve made me gay” –

“Believe me, that’s not what I’m assuming,” Vic tells him.

This would be a lot easier for him if Andy wasn’t here, silently judging him. Robert feels like all his reactions are coming out a half-beat off, not quite right. He keeps going though – throwing everything he’s got at her because _something_ has to stick. “Can two blokes not just be friends now?”

“Yeah, of _course_ two blokes can be friends. Once those two blokes aren’t you and Aaron.” Vic puts up her hands. “Robert – _stop_ it. Just – _stop_ for a second, and _listen to me_!”

Taken aback by her sheer force, he grudgingly subsides.

Vic closes her eyes, taking a second to calm herself. “Right,” she says, when she opens them. “How about we both just tell the truth from now on, okay?”

“Fine by me. Because I’ve got nothing to tell.”

Her face screws up in frustration. “Oh come off it, Robert – it’s obvious.”

“What is?” His heart starts to thump in his chest. 

“Vic, really – just leave it,” Andy says.

“No – go on,” Robert says, because much as he’s not enjoying the present moment, he can that this has gone too far for either of them to back out now. “What is it that’s so obvious? Because whatever it _is_ …I’m not getting it.”

Vic presses her lips together, and he braces himself. But whatever he’s preparing for, what she actually says…completely blindsides him. 

“When you came home – I thought it was for us. Family.” Her words come out slowly, inexorable. “And maybe it was, a little bit. But right from the first you’ve been seeking Aaron out, trying to get closer to him. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see it…” – 

He interrupts – “It’s taken you this long because there’s _nothing to see_.”

She finishes anyway – a quiet atomic bomb. “You love him, don’t you? You’re in love with Aaron.”

His vision whites out at the edges for a second, before the denial comes flooding through him. _No…because that’s.…he can’t be…he isn’t…_

“Vic, shu – that’s _not_ …” He has to work on pulling air into his squeezed lungs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Vic just looks at him, eyes steady, and he swerves aggressively onto a different tack. Anything to get away from - _You’re in love with Aaron_ …

“And even _if – if_ there _was_ something going on…how is it _any_ of your business? Tell me _that_.”

“Because it isn’t the first time,” she says simply.

He stares at her, head whirling with thoughts that refuse to make any sense because – how would she even _know_ that Aaron’s not the first bloke he’s been with? And why would _that_ , of all things, be the tipping point?

“ _What_?”

“You and Aaron. Rob…this isn’t the first time it’s happened.” She looks almost sympathetic. “And _that’s_ why.” 

“You’re not making any sense!” He turns to his brother. “Andy – what’s going on?”

Andy opens his mouth – but looks away, shaking his head.

“Here goes,” Vic says. “I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but – I can’t keep your secret any longer, Robert. I don’t think you want me to, deep down. Or you would never have come back at all.”

_His_ secret? What in the name of _fuck_ –

“ _Vic_ ,” he says, knife sharp, because he doesn’t think there are words to express how the-buzzer-has-sounded DONE he is with this whole thing. He puts his hands on her shoulders and stares her down. “ _For the last time – what are you trying to say_?”

She goes very still under his fingers…and then – 

“Wait here,” she says, before dashing past him, out of the kitchen.

He drops his hands onto the back of the nearest chair. Cuts his eyes at Andy over the sound of Vic hurrying up the stairs, and snaps, “Seriously – you’re not even gonna give me a clue? Multiple choice option? Phone a friend?”

“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be telling you this at all,” Andy says, and in fairness, he does look like he’d rather be anywhere else, face grim and set. “Look, just – try and stay calm, all right?”

Well, _that’s_ a confidence booster. “What d’you mean by that?”

But before he can answer (if he even would have answered), they hear the thumpthumpthump of Vic’s feet again. She reappears, a small white card in her hand, which she thrusts at Robert.

“Here.”

He takes it. Looks at her. “What’s this?”

“Read it,” she tells him.

He glances down. On the card, in stark black writing, it says – 

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Barton_

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. _

_Thank you_.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everyone knows about you and Aaron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am the girl who cried end. I feel like this one isn't that exciting, but it was getting so unwieldy that it felt like it would be easier for me to split the never-ending last chapter into smaller bits and post. 
> 
> (But I swear to god it's almost over).

He stares at the words. He’s not reading them right. He can’t be. 

But the card insists –

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again_.

“What is this?” he asks. “Is this some kind of joke?”

His sister watches him. “We all got one,” she says. “Me, Andy, Diane” –

“You really went all out, didn’t you?” he hears himself say. “Shame April Fools’ is months away.” 

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased_ –

“Vic, this isn’t _funny_.” It sounds like he’s speaking from a distance. 

“That’s just what I said, when I got it,” she tells him. “I thought – I don’t know _what_ I thought at first, really. I mean, it’s not exactly like finding out your big brother’s booked himself in for a hearing test or an eye-exam, is it? But I checked up on it, found out it was for real. Weird, but – real.”

Her voice softens. “And if I’d had any doubts left, well…you showing up and not remembering anything took care of that. Hard to argue when the proof is right in front of your eyes.”

He can feel her studying him, waiting for him to…what? React to this – this flimsy, incomprehensible –

_**Robert Sugden** has had_ –

“Right. Right. Because obviously _this_ is genuine and _not_ a complete and utter wind-up,” he looks down at the card again, even as his eyes glance away from the words printed on it. “You ran a couple of these off, and now I’m meant to buy that I went full Clockwork Orange or whatever…for no good reason. Is that it?” He meets her gaze with a steadiness that borders on defiance. “Okay, it’s original – but a bit farfetched, don’t you think?”

“You’ve _got_ the reason,” Vic says. “It’s written right there, in black and white.”

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention_ –

“What – _Aaron_? That doesn’t make any sense. A couple of months ago, I didn’t even know him!”

“That’s not true, though,” Vic tells him, steady and solid. Like it isn’t a joke at all. 

“Great - you’ve cooked up a _story_ to go along with this thing,” Robert drops the card onto the table and folds his arms. “This should be good.” 

“Rob – please. _Why_ would I make something like this up?”

There’s a terrifying moment of blankness, before he lurches back into gear. “I don’t know…maybe – maybe to get back at me for wanting you to stay out of my personal life? I mean – all this stuff about Aaron lately – have I called him, am I meeting him…it’s like you’re fixated.”

Vic’s mouth drops, and she flings her hands up by her ears. “ _I’m_ the one who’s fixated? _Me_? Are you even _listening_ to yourself right now?”

“Don’t blame me – I’m the one with the case of selective amnesia. Apparently. Remind me how that goes again?”

_**Robert Sugden has had **Aaron Livesy** erased**_ –

“ _Well_?” He waits, nervy yet alert – ready to rip whatever Vic says to shreds. To tear it down before she even says it, if he can manage it. “I might not actually remember any of it, but I bet I can guess how it starts. ‘Once upon a time’ – am I right?”

“You were living up at Home Farm,” Andy says suddenly, from behind him. “With Chrissie and Lachlan. And Lawrence.”

A small turn, like a key in a lock –

_…if he’d ever imagined coming back, **this** is what he would have pictured…owner of a huge estate, money to burn, Chrissie by his side…_

\- and the accompanying tilt of nausea slows Robert by a half second as he whirls around. Probably not enough to be noticeable. “Oh, not _you_ as well! Thought you didn’t want to get involved in this?”

Andy shrugs. “Doesn’t seem like there’s much chance of that now,” he says.

Robert sizes him up. “Home Farm?” He nods to himself as he pretends to consider Andy’s words. His back prickles with a cornered-animal awareness of Vic, standing to his other side. “Nice. I like the setup, at least. Don’t really see where Aaron comes in to it, mind, but” –

“You were having an affair with him.” Andy, again.

“Oh, of _course_ I was,” Robert agrees. “I hope you didn’t strain yourself, coming up with that twist.”

“It’s not a twist – it’s what _happened_ ,” Vic insists, and he turns to face her again. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. So…how did it begin? Our eyes met across a crowded scrapyard, did they? Or was it a special offer – you know ‘service your car, and _get_ serviced at the same time’?” He stares her down. “Come on – those blanks aren’t going to fill themselves in.”

“If you want all the details, you’re gonna have to ask Aaron,” Vic says, doggedly ignoring the disbelief that thickens his words. “Because I don’t know everything. None of us did – not for months, not until it all just – exploded. Chrissie found out…we all found out, and I _tried_ , me and Diane _both_ did, but you wouldn’t talk about it. And then Chrissie packed her bags and you went running off after her to try and get her back, and…” she reaches out to touch the card, lying flat on the kitchen table, with her fingertips, “…next thing I knew, this arrived.”

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory_ –

“No,” he says. He licks dry lips. “That’s not. No.”

“Then why’d she leave you, Rob?” Vic asks. “What was it that made Chrissie kick you out?” She pauses. “You don’t know, do you? Because you don’t _remember_ it.”

It’s like being edged over a cliff, step by step, until his heels are poised directly above a dizzying drop. There’s nothing to catch onto, no safety net if he goes over.

“I know what it _wasn’t_ ,” he says. “And believe me, it had nothing to do with me having it off with some bloke I’d never even met!”

“Some bloke you don’t _remember_ meeting,” Vic says, insistent. “Which is a bit different.”

Like a distorted echo of her words, he hears… _just because you don’t remember, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! It doesn’t undo it! And it doesn’t make everything suddenly all right!_

His whole body clenches up in refusal. “No.” 

“Robert” –

“If I _was_ living here – like you say…then how come no-one said anything? Not to poke holes in your story, but four months and counting – and no odd looks, no mentions of Home Farm…not so much as a passing remark about Chrissie, or Lachlan, or Lawrence? Who – let’s not forget – you said were living here as well.”

He aims the improbability of it like a stake to the heart, ready to make dust of the entire situation. “What – did you just go round door to door, asking everyone to keep mum? Or did you send the whole village one of your little cards?”

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship_ –

“Didn’t really need to,” Vic says. “You know what it’s like round here. One person overhears something and it’s common knowledge by tea-time. And considering Chrissie wasn’t exactly…lowkey when she found out about Aaron…and that Chas hit the roof after Diane told her what you’d done…well…” 

She raises one shoulder, lets it drop. 

“Great. Even better. Because apparently everyone knew about the affair and the mini-lobotomy – but somehow, not _one_ person let something slip?” 

He stops to let the incongruity of it sink in. “I’ve heard ‘it takes a village’, but talk about stretching that to its limits! I mean, business as usual – without so much as a single weird moment? Nothing that’d tip me off to the fact that things aren’t as they seem? Bit sus, wouldn’t you say?”

Vic cocks her head to the side. “Like your first day back, when Bob kept bringing up brain surgery? Or the way Chas decided ‘out of nowhere’,” her fingers come up to make quotation marks, “that she hated you, when she’d not seen you in years? Adam kicking up about you staying? That the sort of thing you had in mind?”

He makes a noise – it’s supposed to be disbelief, but she keeps going. “There was plenty of weirdness. You just didn’t notice it…or you didn’t _want_ to.”

The walls are closing in. His ribcage tightens, contracting around his lungs, squeezing all the air out. 

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never_ –

“I _know_ it’s a shock,” Vic says, “I get that. But mad as this all sounds, you’ve got to admit…it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

The words keep dying in his throat, but he shakes his head. 

“Rob – come on. How else d’you explain the fact that you can’t remember _months_ of your life, before you came back here? That never struck you as odd? Ever?”

_…he tries to remember the last time he and Chrissie had had sex…and can’t…_

“I don’t believe you,” he manages, in that same faraway voice.

“What?” Vic frowns at him. “That’s not – that’s not how this _works_. You don’t get to stick your fingers in your ears just because you don’t want to face something. This _happened_ , Rob. What do I have to say to make you accept that?”

_He can’t remember his wedding. There’s **nothing** there – literally nothing…_

“…nothing.” There’s a yawning abyss on either side of him, but he keeps his gaze focused blindly forward. Forces himself to stay balanced on the swaying, fraying tightrope of here-and-now. Because now is what’s important – not what might or might not have happened months before.

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again_.

Even if ( _if_ ) what she’s saying _did_ happen ( _if_ ), that was – ages back. So long ago it would’ve been halfway forgotten about by now anyway. He makes himself look straight at his sister. What does she even have? Just a piece of paper and some words. That’s not definite. It’s not _proof_. 

“There’s nothing you can say,” he tells her again, and it stands. True or not, it doesn’t _matter_ , in the end. If he really doesn’t want to know (and he _doesn’t_ ) then there’s nothing, _nothing_ , anyone could come up with that would _force_ him to –

“Katie knew.”

_believe_

it. 

Slowly, he turns back. 

“…what?”

“She knew. About the affair.” Andy’s got his chin up, an almost familiar look – like he’s facing into an unpleasant-but-has-to-be-done task like mucking out stalls, or covering the silage pit. 

Dependable. Reliable. Maybe not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but – solid. That’s Andy. Even his rage is – broad strokes, dangerously hot to the touch, but not – not _vicious_. Not calculated. 

He’s never _needed_ to be. Because _this_ , this isn’t thought out so much as it is pure instinct – the unerring way he slices straight through every layer of defence and denial Robert has…with just two diamond-edged words.

_Katie knew_. 

In the blink of an eye, each one of Robert’s excuses and deflections punctures and bleeds out, because the single thing _he_ knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that Andy would _never_ bring Katie’s name into this…

_If it wasn’t true_.

“She knew before any of the rest of us did,” Andy continues, face set and arms folded. “Not that it was Aaron – not at first. But she knew you were up to something – and it didn’t take her long to guess that you’d been playing away. Not that anyone else would listen to her...you made sure of that. Always one-upping her, twisting things. Lying. Didn’t put her off, though. She kept trying to convince us. Me. Chrissie. Looking for ways to prove it.”

He can’t see it. It’s not there in his head – none of it is. Not Katie, or Home Farm, or Aaron.

But Andy’s told him, and so now he _has_ to believe. 

“…stop it.” The words shiver out of him. 

But quietly, mercilessly, his brother keeps going. “She got – obsessed, almost. With finding the truth. Showing you for what you really were. And you were just as bad – _worse_ – trying to get her to back off. Not that I knew any of that until it was too late. But when it was happening… I just – I didn’t even _care_ , by the end. I couldn’t stand it anymore, but Katie…she wouldn’t leave it alone.”

There’s already a crack running right through Robert’s centre, splitting him in half – and he realises with a lurch that his brother’s not going to leave this until he’s in ruins. 

“Andy…please…”

“You came back, and it was like – you’d found a new way to come between us. It didn’t even matter that we’d made it, that me and Katie’d made our way back to each other.” Andy’s eyes pin him. “Because yeah, she loved me…but it felt like she hated you more. It’s why we were arguing so much, when she died.”

_It’s just, well…at the time that Katie died – her and Andy’d been having some problems._

_Problems? What sort of problems?_

_Oh…you know, the – the usual sort of thing_.

He can’t take it anymore. “Right. Obviously.” He has to keep blinking, Andy’s outline blurring, then sharpening. “Because it’s not enough me destroying my own marriage, I just _had_ to wreck yours as well.”

The mockery is a kneejerk defence mechanism, necessary…because he _believes_ it. Instantly. Completely. Andy’s told him. Of _course_ it happened. The knowledge sinks into his bones, weighing them down. 

He fights it anyway, with a voice that cracks at the end. “Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me I killed her.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath from behind him, a shocked, “ _Robert_!” 

And Andy…

… _Andy_ …

Andy…doesn’t say anything.

Robert’s hand grips for the back of one of the chairs. His heart beats in his ears, and the silence stretches out as they lock eyes.

“Andy…?” he hears Vic say, but he doesn’t react, just holds Robert’s gaze. “ _Andy_!”

_oh god_.

His fingers dig into the chair. He’s aware, distantly, that his vision is going dark, fuzzing at the edges, leaving Andy as a stark focal point. He’s going to black out, he realises. 

_Because Andy is going to tell him he killed Katie_. 

He knows… _knows_ that logically, it’s not true – it can’t be. He’d be – he’d be locked up, if nothing else. He’d be serving a life sentence, if he’d actually…

But that’s irrelevant.

All his brother has to do is say it. Tell him that he pushed things too far (like he always, always does). That he drove them apart. That Katie would never have been on her own – if it hadn’t been for Robert. 

That in Andy’s eyes, it’s his fault. 

That he killed Katie. 

And all the arguments to be made against that – good and convincing and objectively true as they may be – will become technicalities. Because if Andy really believes he’s got her blood on his hands, Robert will have no choice. He’ll deny it – but deep down…

… _deep down_ …

…he’ll believe it too.

His brother stands there, and Robert already knows the answer. But he waits for his sentence anyway. Waits for Andy to say –

“…no.” The word comes out slow – but as deliberate as a verdict. He doesn’t look away from Robert as he says, again, “No. That was an accident.”

He had thought – he honestly _thought_ –

Robert bends over the chair and takes a heaving gulp of air into his lungs. It hurts. He has to do it again. And again. 

“– some water, would ya?!”

There’s a hand on his back, rubbing, and a glass appears in his line of vision. “Here Rob – drink this.”

He takes hold of it and chokes down a mouthful of water as Vic demands of Andy, “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

The loud sound the glass makes as he places it back on the table isn’t deliberate on his part – his hands are slow to remember the right amount of force needed. But his voice shakes with anger when he turns to Andy and says, “You – you made me _think_ that…that” –

Vic’s still patting his arm. 

Andy just surveys him for a long moment, seemingly unaffected, before noting, “Not denying it happened anymore, though – are you?”

He says it calmly, without apparent triumph – but it smashes into Robert like a wrecking ball. It takes everything he has not to double over again.

“It was still a bit _extreme_ , though – don’t you think? Under the circumstances,” Vic says – and Robert can hear the glare in her words, before she turns softer eyes on him. “But…seeing as it’s done now…we should, you know – sit down. And have a proper chat about – all this.”

Her fingers squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve probably got loads of questions.”

_**Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again_.

He jerks out of her grasp and stumbles out the kitchen door on feet that aren’t working right. The stairs stretch ahead of him. Climbing them seems a task of Escher-esque proportions, but at the sound of –

“Robert? Rob – where are you going?”

\- he launches himself, hand grabbing for the banister to help pull himself upwards.

“Leave him a while, Vic,” he hears before he’s at the top, almost tripping on the last step – and then he’s finally there, finally alone, finally inside the safety of his room.

*****

He leans against the door, using his body like a latch, barring entry – just in case. His legs are shaking. He ends up with a scraped back, arse against the stubby carpet, his thoughts a whirling, tumbling jumble.

 _ **Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again_.

He tries to slow his breathing, to empty his mind – but it’s no use. Voices reverberate in his head, lines of innocuous small talk suddenly turning inside out, each revealing a hidden meaning. 

_My Daddy says you’re sick in the head._

_You **are** married, aren’t you, Robert? Only it’s a bit hard to remember sometimes._

_Here we go – an Americano to remember. I’m sorry – that was probably in poor taste._

_I leave for five minutes and it’s like a bad case of déjà vu in ‘ere._

_’S a crackin’ name for a band, in’t it? The Bicurious Butterflies…_

_Very Celine Dion…_

His fists press into the carpet as he levers himself to his numb-feeling feet. He paces the floor from wall to wall, but there’s no escape. His own words – _I don’t even know what I’ve done!_ – ring in his ears, insistent, and a plethora of replies echo back…mockingly disjointed and never once giving him a straight answer.

_Oh. That’s right. Because you **don’t remember**. Of course._

_Seems like you two bypassed that honeymoon stage altogether._

_You fucked it up, Robert. The way we both knew you would._

_You don’t get to write us all off, and then decide **we’re** the ones who handled this wrong._

_And we weren’t expecting you to just – show up, the way you did…_

_…that’s the thing about second chances, Robert. Usually you only get them the once._

_You **do** know, don’t you – that it didn’t happen like you said?_

Jesus. 

He sits down on his bed with a thump that causes the mattress to launch a bouncing protest.

Fucking… _fuck_. 

Because whatever else about the – rest of it (since ‘I wonder if my family’s acting weird because I might have a highly specialised form of fucking _amnesia_ ’ isn’t really the first, second, or even _tenth_ thought that springs to mind)…Christ, but he’d just _rolled over_ when it came to his marriage. 

It hadn’t felt like that at the time, of course, but looking back…he’d _accepted_ it. Accepted Chrissie calling time on their just-begun life together on what seemed like a fucking _whim_. Accepted it with only the barest murmur of protest. He’d asked, yeah – but he hadn’t insisted. Hadn’t _demanded_ an explanation. Hadn’t made more than the most perfunctory attempt to fix things. 

Okay, she’d blocked his number, but. He’d _left_. Decamped to fucking _Emmerdale_ of all places, and stopped even _trying_ to contact her. Like…like it hadn’t _mattered_ to him. 

Shit – the one time she’d phoned, he’d _hung up on her_. 

Except there’s no way, no _reason_ ( _ **Robert Sugden** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from –_ ) he would _ever_ have let go of Chrissie, of his job…of his entire _future_ …just like that. He wouldn’t have done it, so – even if that’s what it looks like – it can’t be what happened.

It had been a strategy, hadn’t it? Yes. Of course. Letting Chrissie call the shots. Miss him. He’d fully intended on winning her back. He just. Hadn’t ever got around to forming a proper plan of action.

Hadn’t _bothered_ to form one.

_No_.

No, it had started out as a strategy. He’s sure of it. He’d just – he’d been distracted by other things. Building bridges with Andy. Making up for lost time with Vic. Giving Diane a chance to whip out her dust-covered prodigal stepson routine. 

( _When you came home – I thought it was for us. Family_ )

Looked at like that, it’s understandable that he’d got a bit…sidetracked.

_Aaron? That’s the bloke who just stormed out for no reason?_

_Yeah, I know who he is – Heathcliff in a hoodie – I just…don’t really see what he’s got to do with anything._

_Was it always blokes with you?_

_Stay. Away. From. Our. Aaron._

_I’m looking for a car…you’re in the business of finding people cars…_

_You just can’t take a hint, can ya?_

He looks down at the hands in his lap like they’re someone else’s, before lifting his head to stare at his four-walled enclosure. ( _I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see it_ ). It’s coming up on five months. He’s been staying in his little sister’s box room for almost five months, like…like this is _it_ for him. Like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

There’s just enough time for the thought to sink in. Then he’s on his feet in a flash, and pulling out his leather holdall.

He’s partway through packing when the expected knock comes. A second later and the door opens enough for a hand to extend, holding out a steaming mug like a white flag, accompanied by Vic’s slightly muffled voice. “Here – I’ve put so much sugar in, the spoon stands up by itself.”

When he makes no move to take it, she enters – stopping dead when her eye falls on the holdall on the bed. “What are you doing?”

He folds a pair of trousers and shoves them in. “What does it look like?”

Vic stares at him. “You can’t _leave_.”

“I wasn’t aware I was under house arrest,” he says, and keeps moving, gathering up a small heap of socks and transporting them over to his bag. 

She grabs hold of his arm with her free hand. A pair of socks falls, bouncing off the bed and rolling onto the floor. She ignores that. “Robert – stop it. You can’t keep running away from this” –

“I’m not running away,” he interrupts, but she just keeps going, speaking over him, “– because apart from anything else, that doesn’t _work_. Which you might’ve picked up on downstairs, if you weren’t too busy freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” he tells her, while she looks up at him sceptically. “Vic – we both knew this…me staying here…it wasn’t supposed to be forever.”

“Right. And the fact that you decided to move out immediately after me and Andy told you the truth…that’s just a coincidence, is it?” She makes a frustrated sound and ducks around him, to put the mug of tea down on his bedside locker. Then she pushes his holdall and the clothes around it over to the other side of the bed before sitting, patting the space next to her. “Just – sit down, would’ja?”

He stays standing and she sighs. “Robert, _think_ about this for a minute. _Properly_. What are you gonna tell Aaron? ‘Sorry, I’ve decided to pack up and leave right after finding out you’re the love of my life? Don’t worry, though – it’s nothing to do with you, really’?”

“He’s not” – Robert says, then forces himself to stop. Part of him wants to deny it – but he can’t afford to give Vic any opening for discussion, not even denial. Most of him doesn’t want to even say the words. He looks away.

“You _were_ gonna tell Aaron, right?” Vic says slowly.

“Vic” -

“I don’t believe this! You weren’t even gonna say it to him?!” The shocked incredulity in her voice causes a reflexive rise of shame, even though it’s the perfect opportunity to point out –

“Sorry to spoil the romance of the century for you. I hate to say it,” he doesn’t, “but all that was mostly in your head, anyway.” 

Him and Aaron, well, they’re hardly Mills and Boon cover material, are they?

“Was it?” she looks at him steadily, and he can’t stop himself from shifting on his feet. But to his surprise, she nods. “All right. Well, that should make it easier for you when you tell Aaron you’re leaving, shouldn’t it?”

_Fuck_. 

He can’t – he can’t _face_ Aaron. Not after this. Vic keeps her eyes on him, expression calm. Like she’s played her fucking trump card or something. He knows she doesn’t mean it to have that effect, but it goads him.

“I know what you’re thinking, you know,” he says, “And it’s not – talking to him – that’s not gonna change my mind.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you?” 

“Vic, I’m not going to do it just to” –

“ _Robert_. If you’re serious about leaving,” abruptly, there’s steel in her tone, and it shuts him up. “And you want me to speak to you ever again – and I _mean_ that – then you’re telling Aaron. Face to face.”

*****

He stands outside the garage, hands in his pockets, one clenched around his phone, the other thumbing the edge of the paper inside for reassurance. His feet feel rooted to the spot. He doesn’t want to do this. Of _course_ he doesn’t.

 _You love him, don’t you? You’re in love with_ –

He’s stepping forward before he even realises he means to. Putting a hand out and expecting resistance, so much so that the lack of it almost comes as a disappointment when the door swings open, and he steps inside the garage. The slap-to-the-face yellow of the Allegro is almost a mundanity at this stage. As is the sight of Aaron leaning up against the front, head down and arms crossed. 

There’s only a split second before he looks up, but it’s almost enough to make Robert turn and walk out again, and just let Vic give him the silent treatment, _fuck_ – let her curse him out for hours in sign language if that’s what it takes, anything rather than having to do _this – here_.

Because Aaron looks up, their eyes meeting across the garage– and the concrete walls and floor immediately become an echo chamber, bouncing him back to the start. 

_I’m not your **mate**._

_Then what are you?_

That’s not how it was, though, not really, Robert tells himself. And this is just a place, nothing special, nowhere important. He holds his ground. But _ohchrist_ he can already tell it’s going to be worse than anything he could anticipate, both of them frozen for a moment –

_This…it’s just sex. Nothing else. It’s not long-term, and neither of us goes making it into something that it’s not_.

– before Aaron’s moving toward him, mouth and eyes soft as he stops right in front of Robert. “You came.”

And fuck. _Fuck_ but it had been wrong to let himself get guilt-tripped into this. Not just unpleasant, but actually _wrong_ – the worst possible thing to do, because just by showing up here, he’s made Aaron think…

“Vic told you, then?” Aaron presses, like he’s making absolutely sure. 

And Robert hadn’t really thought about it, but maybe he’d half-expected him to seem…different…like a stranger or something, after finding out. But here, standing in front of Robert, he’s still just – _Aaron_. Every move he makes familiar, every inch of him known. 

**_Robert Sugden_** has had **Aaron Livesy** erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.

He manages a nod. Aaron closes his eyes for a second, takes in one long breath and holds it for a moment before releasing it again, in an unsteady exhale. 

“I’m not staying,” Robert blurts out, suddenly. 

_This thing – us – it’s not supposed to get complicated. (Aaron’d_ said that). 

Now he frowns, obviously thrown but – “Right. Yeah. It’s…probably a lot to take in.” 

It’s such a fucking understatement Robert wants to laugh, but he can’t make the sound come out. Aaron presses his lips together before venturing, “If you want to talk about it…”

There must be something – in his face or body, some change or shift, because almost immediately, Aaron says, “Or…we don’t _have_ to talk. If you don’t want to.”

It comes out terrifyingly gentle, nothing suggestive in it at all – but in the blink of a memory Robert’s flat on his back on Aaron’s mattress, looking up as Aaron leans over him. There’s a hazy, indistinct quality to the recollection, more to do with the way he’d been feeling then, than a genuine inattention to detail. Still. If he’d _known_ that that would be the last time…

_Yeah, well, not my first time, is it?_

Not _the_ first time, Aaron’d meant. Not _their_ first time, though it had certainly seemed like it to Robert…the climb up the Woolpack stairs to Aaron’s bedroom a strange, held-breath experience. Unforgettable. 

Except he _had_ , hadn’t he? _Is this your idea of pillow talk? Because discussing your exes…not much of a turn on_. There’s an almost physical wrench as he tries to right his skewed perceptions. However it might have _felt_ , that’s not how it really _was_. 

Abruptly, he just needs to _finish_ this – bring the whole thing to an end, for once and for all. No point in putting it off, is there?

So he raises his head to meet Aaron’s eyes, and does it. “When I said I wasn’t staying – I meant that…I’m leaving. Emmerdale.” 

Aaron goes very still. 

“…leaving,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Robert says, just to say something, fill the spreading quiet – even though it’s only a few seconds before Aaron nods, just once, and says, “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

He takes it in, with a pull of his mouth that’s so fucking _typical_ that Robert has to look away. 

“Taking a rain check on that night out, then,” he notes. It’s maybe meant to be a joke, to save face, but the words roll out like they’re heavy on his tongue.

… _we should do it. For real. Go out…have dinner, a few drinks – the lot_ …

The underlying accusation feels like an itch on his skin – but oddly, it’s Aaron’s near-immediate acceptance that has him mounting a limp defence. “Come on…Aaron…after what I’ve just found out, you can’t expect” –

“I don’t _expect_ anything from you,” he shoots back, quick. And then, very deliberate, “Gave up on that a long time ago, didn’t I?”

It hits hard, if not as hard as Aaron means it to, because as bitter a jab as it is, it can’t cover up the fact that he’d obviously been _hoping_. 

But Robert tries not to use that, to twist it back at him. He can be gracious with this. So he pushes his mouth into a stiff kind of smile and says, “Should be a relief, then, shouldn’t it? Finally getting rid of me.”

He’s careful to make it sound as light and matter of fact as possible, even though the subtext hangs over both of them like an overcast sky.

_The last bloke I – my ex – he was a bit of a nutter._

_Yeah?_

_Yeah. A real psycho, actually_.

Well. One more (hadn’t-even-realised-it-was-a-)mystery solved, right down to Vic’s OTT reaction. Except not really, because he still doesn’t know the exact specifics. 

He doesn’t _want_ to know them.

Aaron’s chin comes up, and Robert realises he’s been staring. “So? What you waiting for, then?” His face is hard and blank, body wound tight. “We’re done here.” 

He’d come here for those words, but the finality in Aaron’s voice makes his brain stutter, completely blank for a second before his hand comes up to his pocket to pull out the folded piece of paper.

He holds it out to Aaron. 

“What’s this?”

“A cheque. For ten thousand.” When Aaron makes no move to take it, he prompts, “That’s what we agreed, isn’t it?”

Aaron slowly looks from the paper in Robert’s hand to his face. “I don’t want your money,” he says.

“Come on, Aaron. I owe you.” 

Aaron shakes his head in disbelief. “You don’t get it, do you?” 

_You think I'm laying out ten thousand for a quick fumble in the backseat of a car?_

_Well, you definitely aren’t laying it out for the car, are you?_

Robert swallows, and keeps the cheque extended. It’s ten thousand pounds, after all. 

But with a final shake of his head, Aaron squares up to him. “All right. How about, I’d rather set myself on fire than take _anything_ from you? Clear enough?”

Robert can’t let it go, though. “Aaron – please, it’s yours. Just…just _take_ it.” 

“ _No_.” It sears through the air, just one word, but it silences Robert, as Aaron gestures at the cheque and tells him, “Might as well tear it up, because you can’t buy me off.”

“I’m not…” Robert denies, but under the Aaron’s hard, unflinching gaze, his eyes swerve to the side, fill with yellow and rust. He takes a breath, clutching at straws. “The car, then.”

A pause. “You want me to take the car,” Aaron says without intonation. His eyes move over Robert, a disillusioned flick from head to toe. “Course you do.”

“I know it’s not much, but…at least have that.”

Something. Anything. 

“Alright?” he asks. It comes out like a plea.

Something changes in Aaron’s face and Robert wonders if he might actually be considering it, for whatever ( _Is this the deluxe service then? Because if it is, I have to say, I don’t mind shelling out for it_ ) reason. 

“Alright?” he says again, pressing for an actual response this time.

With a sudden jerk of movement, Aaron pushes past him, leaving Robert standing in the same spot, wondering if it indicates acceptance or dismissal of his offer. He turns, but by then Aaron’s already striding back – a crowbar in his hand.

He frowns. “Aaron – what” –

But Aaron doesn’t answer, walks right past him to swing the thing in a wide arc. Robert jumps and –

SMASH – the driver’s side mirror detaches.

“Fuck! _Aaron_!”

As if he doesn’t hear him, Aaron’s raising the crowbar again and CRACK – a long wavering line fissures across the windshield they’d taken out and then carefully replaced. Another whack, two, and there’s an explosion of glass across the front seats and the bonnet.

Robert can’t help but instinctively recoil every time Aaron raises his arm, even as his own fingers flinch out and then back, helplessly. “What are you _doing_?! Stop it!”

It doesn’t even slow Aaron, whose attack on the car becomes more frenzied if anything, an unceasing barrage of blows, coming harder and faster…

…the other wing mirror gone…

…a headlight…

…the scrape and crunch of glass underfoot as the roof buckles under the assault…

…dents appearing in the back door, the boot…

…the front bumper giving up and coming loose…

It goes on and on, relentless and unabating, just BANG and BANG and BANG, until by the end of it, Robert’s numb, just watching Aaron lay waste to this thing they’d built together. 

And then, all of a sudden, it’s over.

Not that Robert realises at first, not until the crowbar drops to the concrete with a clang – and there’s just the heavy sound of Aaron’s breathing as they both survey the yellow-tinged wreckage of the Austin Allegro. 

There’s no salvaging it now. 

Aaron turns to him, and Robert can’t help but back up a half-step. Aaron’s face is red, his chest still rising and falling with exertion. Robert’s eyes fall to his hands, clenched by his sides. He’d just _destroyed a car_. 

Robert’s lips are dry, but when he licks them, his tongue is dry too. What is he supposed to _say_?

(Nothing, he finds). 

“We’re _done_ ,” Aaron informs him. “Now – get out.”

Robert gets.

*****

Vic’s on him the second he’s back at Keepers, almost leaping out of the kitchen to spear him with a, “Well? How did it go?”

“I told him. Like you wanted,” Robert says, foot already on the bottom stair. 

Her hand grabs for his on the banister, halting him. “And?”

_And?_ And Aaron’d chosen to express his feelings through the medium of interpretive violence - wordless but explicit. His ears give a sort of aural flinch at the memory.

“And I’d like to finish packing now,” he says, with a raise of his shoulders. “If that’s all right with you.”

She stares. “But you’re not still leaving?”

His voice feels like it’s dragging through smashed glass – though it sounds normal in his ears as he says, “Why wouldn’t I be?” He pulls his hand from under hers, and continues upstairs. 

There’s another set of thumps, a presence behind him as Vic follows. “Robert” –

He turns at the entrance to his room. The _box room. Vic’s_ box room. “What? You said I had to talk to Aaron, and I have. Mission accomplished, so…” he spreads his hands before dropping them, and moving inside.

“No it’s _not_. Not if you’re going away,” she insists, right on his heels. “I don’t _get it_. If it’s that you’re scared” –

There are still a few shirts hanging in the wardrobe. The hangers scrape against the rail as he takes them out. He doesn’t look at her as he lays them on the bed. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“ _Really_?” She pushes in front of him. “Cause that’s not what it looks like.”

He tries to sidestep her, “Vic” – but she moves with him, refusing to budge, to get out of his face. “Then _tell_ me. Look me in the eye and tell me _why_ you’re leaving.” 

It snaps out, ugly and truthful. “Because I’m not gonna hang around Emmerdale with a – with a _boyfriend_ , Vic! All right?!”

The very word (boyfriend. _Boyfriend_ ) sounds ridiculous coming out of his mouth. It’s impossible to say _without_ sounding ridiculous. 

She looks at him, mouth slightly open, as it finally sinks in. And he has to glance away, jaw working, because he can practically hear the generic violins that underscore the equally generic ‘It’s okay to be gay’ talk. One of those tritely overdramatic one-size-fits-all speeches that has never – _will_ never – fit _him_. It’s all so fucking unnecessary, but he can just tell – any second now, his little sister’s going to get up on her soapbox and say something like…

“…why not?” 

“Why _not_?” Jolted off-script, he stares at her. “Because I’m straight, for one thing?”

“Right,” she wrinkles her nose. “Not really sure that means what you think it does…seeing as you’ve spent the last couple of months mooning about, basically writin’ _Robert Sugden + Aaron Livesy_ over and over at the back of your copybook.”

He moves past her, to the other side of the bed, and reaches out for one of the shirts. His fingers want to ball it up, but he follows the pattern – sleeves to the middle of the back, folded in so that the cuffs cross. He’s proud of how disinterested his voice sounds when he says, “Look, I know you’re really invested in turning this thing into _Brokeback Garage_ or whatever – but take it from me…that’s not how it was. So maybe you could _drop it_ now?”

“All right. I get it.” Vic watches him, hands finding a place on her hips. “Everyone knows about you and Aaron.” He can’t help the expression that winces across his face.

_Newsflash – my mum didn’t invite you to a big family do because she thinks we’re mates, all right? She thinks we’re…having it off._

_Heard you found a fixer-upper…and ah, that you and Aaron are making a-a real go of it._

_So – did you sort things with the in-laws? Love Bug all revved up and ready to ride again?_

“Yeah, thanks, I think I got that.” Robert forces his hands to keep folding. It had all been right there, right in front of him, from the very start. How had he been so fucking… _oblivious_?

“But so what?” she continues, remorseless, “They knew yesterday as well. And the day before that. Big deal.”

“ _Big deal_?” He stares at her. “You know, if I _were_ gay, I’d seriously question your taste in coming out speeches.”

“When I tried something more traditional, you ran a mile,” she offers, eyes falling to the rapidly filling bag on the bed. “I thought I’d go for something new this time around.”

The reminder that some version of this has happened before is like hitting the ground face first. It’s a self-inflicted disadvantage, but he can’t help but aim the resultant surge of terrified resentment in Vic’s direction.

“Right. Interesting, but I can’t see ‘ _give in and be gay, since everyone else already thinks you are_ ’ catching on anytime soon.”

“It doesn’t _change_ anything, is what I’m saying. Everyone knows about you and Aaron – and no-one’s treated you any different. Or if they have, you obviously haven’t minded that much.”

She puts her arm out, preventing him from folding the last shirt, packing it away. “ _I_ knew – and don’t try and tell me you didn’t realise that, because I won’t believe ya. But you barely even blinked…and you definitely didn’t stop seein’ Aaron. What – were we all just supposed to keep looking the other way forever?” 

Her voice softens, and her hand slides across the fabric, reaching for him. “How was that supposed to work, ey? Come on – you’d have had to deal with it sooner or later, Rob.”

He keeps his fingers stiff, without give as she tries to insinuate her own smaller fingers between his – until finally she gives up, and just lays her warm palm atop the back of his hand. He has his head down, but he can feel her eyes x-raying the side of his face. 

“Is it Dad?” she asks, finally. His heart gives an ungainly landed fish jump in his chest. “Because he would’ve come round, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Robert gives a dried out laugh. “Oh, of course he would.”

“He _would_ ,” Vic insists. “If he could see you, how happy Aaron makes you…believe me, he’d understand.”

Oh yeah, he can believe that Jack Sugden would _understand_ , in his own way. Enough to grasp the essentials, at least. But resignation’s not the same thing as acceptance. 

Robert’s always known that – and he jerks his hand away. 

“That’s all very nice, but let’s just say what we’re both dancing around, shall we? It wouldn’t have been his first choice, though, would it?”

Vic looks at him for a moment in silence, before offering, slowly, “Well if we’re going for realism, I don’t think me marrying Adam would’ve been that high on his wishlist either. Or Andy getting back with Katie, for that matter. I mean, at the very least he’d have thrown a few fits and disowned us both for a bit. But he’d only have done that because he _cared_.”

He snorts, but she holds her chin up, face clear with conviction. “I’m not saying it would’ve been easy convincin’ him, but deep down, Dad would’ve been hoping for the best – for all of us. I know that much – and so do _you_. Okay, he mightn’t have been shouting it from the rooftops when you started shacking up with the bloke who wrecked your marriage…but he’d’ve known what it meant when you came back for Aaron. And he’d have accepted it.”

Robert shakes his head. “I _didn’t_ come back for” – 

He stops himself, and takes a deep breath in, although his chest immediately sets up a thin aching protest. “And it doesn’t matter what Dad would’ve thought, anyway.”

Just another reason to heap on the bonfire pile he’d had to disapprove of Robert. 

“Yeah it does. It matters to _me_ ,” Vic says. “It matters if you’re telling me that Dad would’ve washed his hands of me or Andy forever, just because we didn’t do exactly what he wanted us to. Is that what you honestly think of him?”

She forces him to spell it out. “I’m _saying_ those situations are a bit different to mine.”

“How? Because they look exactly the same to me.”

“Vic” –

“I mean it. I love Adam. Andy loved Katie. You love” –

“ _Stop it_.” He cuts across her with a fierceness that almost borders on savagery – but instead of backing down, she fights right back, matching his intensity with a deep current of bewildered frustration.

“You _do_ though! I _know_ you do…I’ve known for ages, Robert. So why can’t you just _admit it_? Even just to me? _Why_?”

“Because it’s just not how I imagined my life, okay?!”

The words feel like they’ve physically ripped out of him, but Vic looks at him with disbelieving confusion all over her face, as if he’s speaking another language, as she repeats, “It’s not how you _imagined_ your life?”

Almost thirty and staying in his little sister’s house, in the village he’d grown up in. Only an impending acrimonious divorce to his name. Not to mention a – _boyfriend_ that Robert himself is the last to know about. 

No. It’s safe to say none of that had made its way into his day planner. 

He tries to speak, but she talks over him, voice growing louder, “ _So what?_ You think I imagined being married at twenty one? Or that Andy dreamed about being a widower before his thirtieth birthday? I’ve got news for you, Rob – _that’s life_. It doesn’t _go_ according to plan. If it did, you’d still be up at Home Farm and married to Chrissie. But you’re _not_ , and there’s a reason why…and you can’t go on pretending it doesn’t matter, just because it doesn’t fit with what you _imagined_. You _love_ Aaron.” 

He means to correct her, denials already crowding up his throat, but they die unvoiced when she finishes, “And Aaron loves _you_.”

_And Aaron loves **you**_.

The words have physical impact, crushing the breath out of his body, as Vic keeps speaking, unaware. “And you leaving…that’s like throwing away the best gift in the world – just because you don’t like the way it’s _wrapped_.”

There’s an argument to be made. He needs to make it – to set her straight. 

There’s no air in the room.

_And Aaron loves **you**_.

“I _know_ it’s confusing. And weird. And maybe right now you’re scared to face what it means…but I’ll help you. We all will. But you’ve _got_ to stay and-and _try_ , at least. For Aaron’s sake – and yours.” 

She presses her lips together before she asks, wide open and hopeful, “So…what’s it gonna be?”

_And Aaron loves **you**_.

He didn’t ask for this. Not ( _you’re in love with Aaron_ ) any of ( _Aaron loves **you**_ ) it. It’s all – too loud, too insistent. 

Too _much_. 

There’s a paused, expectant look on Vic’s face as he reaches out…

…to stuff the last shirt in his bag.

*****

There are raised voices a short while later when Adam returns, but no-one comes near Robert, and he’s careful to keep his door closed and his hearing blurred, so that it becomes just a wash of sound that eventually dies away.

Later still, there are feet on the stairs, but they move past his room (the box room. Vic’s box room) without stopping. 

He lies on top of his bed in the dark, and stares up at the ceiling with eyes that might as well be springloaded, the way they remain open. He doesn’t waver into sleep, but he keeps his mind blank and empty, pushing out all conscious thought like a particularly aggressive form of meditation.

When he finally ventures downstairs, the whole house is quiet, and flicking the switch in the kitchen bleaches the room and keeps him blinking, off balance. It takes him a few seconds to reorient. He knows he’s hungry, because it’s been hours since he’s eaten, so he makes himself a ham sandwich. He only uses a scraping of mustard, but it burns his mouth and makes his throat close up when he tries to swallow. He only manages a bite or two before he has to throw the rest away. The water he follows it with is too cold, and he ends up watching it pour down the sink, before he turns the glass over, leaving it to drain.

He gives up, and climbs the stairs again, only to stop dead at the top – because the door to Andy’s bedroom is open, and Andy is just standing there, watching him.

He doesn’t say anything, and slowly, as he _continues_ to not say anything, the breath held in Robert’s chest eases its way out. Keeping the silence, he moves back toward his room. The box room.

Andy follows, stepping just inside the doorway. He still doesn’t break the quiet, seemingly unbothered by it, leaning up against the wall and scrutinising Robert, arms folded, until Robert half-snaps, “What – are you planning on watching me sleep or something?”

“Doesn’t look like you’ve been doing a lot of that,” Andy observes, nodding toward the still-made bed. Robert’s still wearing the clothes he’d changed into back when the only thing he’d had to worry about was the possibility of Vic asking Aaron some awkward, easily dodged questions. 

“Yeah well, it’s funny – turns out finding out you’ve had a huge chunk of your life Tippexed out will keep you up at night.” 

“You’re the one who made it like that.” Andy’s voice is even, matter of fact, and yes, all right Robert _did it_ …but he doesn’t _remember that now_. Trust Andy to keep harping on about it while _he_ feels like he’s been sideswiped by a complete stranger, out of nowhere. 

That the stranger is Robert _himself_ , only adds a trapdoor-drop of disorienting fear each fresh time it hits. 

“If Vic’s asked you to talk to me” –

“Even if she had, I wouldn’t,” Andy says, and shrugs. “I thought this was a bad idea from the start, to be honest. Told her she had to expect that you might react, well…like this.” His eyes fall to Robert’s bag, now packed and stowed near the door. “I mean, I hoped it’d be different, obviously, but…you’ve got to be prepared, don’t you? Suppose Vic’s just not as used to disappointment as the rest of us.”

The ‘ _when it comes to you_ ’ hovers in the air, unspoken. 

“Right,” Robert says. There’s a pain right behind his eyes, and he really doesn’t want to do this now. He’s been pared right down to his secrets for months, walking around white and exposed and completely fucking unaware. 

But he pushes that utterly humiliating truth to the side, so that he can toss out, “Should’ve known you’d be digging out the hits. Well, go on. Your little _Robert, how could you_? speech isn’t going to give itself.”

“No. No speeches,” Andy ignores Robert’s bitter flippancy, and shrugs. “I just wanted you to know that you’ve finally done it this time. Figured I owed you that.”

He knows it’s a mistake – knows it’s nothing he’ll want to hear, but he can’t stop himself. “Finally done what?”

Instead of answering right away, Andy surveys him, head to toe. 

“Feels like you’ve spent most of our lives trying to get one over on me,” he says. “Like you _wanted_ me to hate you. And there’s been times when I even thought I did. Except I didn’t. I never did. Not really. D’you know how I know that?”

A fraction of a pause…before Andy finishes. “Because I hate you _now_.”

Each word hits with two tonne force, Robert’s chest crumpling under the impact like metal – like the deformed front of an Austin Allegro. (Aaron hadn’t needed to _say_ it).

But Andy doesn’t seem to realise the effect he’s having, or maybe he just doesn’t care, because he keeps on talking, stood across from Robert in the box room at Keepers Cottage. 

“Right now, I can hardly stand to look at you. Because you’ve got what I would do _anything_ for – another chance. And you’re just…pissing it away. Do you know what I would give for one more _minute_ with Katie? Just _one_? And here you are, throwing out a whole lifetime. Like it’s _nothing_.”

It’s quiet words, not the physical swing and smash of a crowbar – but the aim’s the same. There’s just a kind of methodical distance to Andy’s demolition that Aaron’s had lacked. Robert doesn’t know whether that makes it better, or worse. 

“I hate you for it,” Andy says again. “Maybe I should feel sorry for you, because you’re the one losing out, in the long run.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t. I’m not that good a person.”

And with that, he makes to leave.

“That’s it then?” Robert finds himself saying. “You’re writing me off, just like that?”

Andy turns back. “You’ve not given me a reason not to.”

“I’m _sorry_ , all right? I am.” He hardly recognises his voice. “I know it must be hard, seeing all this with me and Aaron, when you don’t get to turn the clock back with Katie. But it’s not the _same_ , and you can’t – Andy, you can’t hold that against me.”

Andy doesn’t move – either toward the door, or back to Robert. 

He swallows. “I mean – everyone keeps _saying_ these things, telling me I _love_ him” – Andy’s eyes are steady, unmoved – “and all right… _maybe_ …maybe there was something to that, at one time or another. But _come on_! You can’t expect me to live the rest of my life according to something I _don’t remember_.”

“No,” Andy says. “I don’t.”

The relief Robert feels is immense, shoulder-slumping…

“But then, all you need’s the last couple of months. And you remember those just fine.”

…short-lived.

That’s it. He just looks at Andy and knows – _that’s it_. He’s not going to talk him round. There isn’t going to be a reprieve. No compromises or ‘agreeing to disagree’.

It’s over. 

Andy looks back at him. 

“Don’t come back this time, Robert,” he says quietly, before stepping out of the room.

*****

Andy’s right. Robert does remember.

He remembers the hotel carpet, the anonymous biscuit-coloured sweep of it under his feet, as he’d battled the pull in his chest – unrelenting and senseless. Because it wasn’t toward Chrissie, the woman he’d married…but directed further back, to a home that _hadn’t_ been one for years. 

And then once he’d got there, followed that twisting, insistent tug all the way to Emmerdale – he’d still felt it. 

He remembers Chas, standing behind the bar and glaring at him…but even though he’d been looking straight at her, inside his head she’s soft-focus. All his attention was drawn toward the bloke sitting to his right. He hadn’t even seen Aaron’s face properly yet.

Robert wonders if it had always been like that, between them. If it had happened like that the _first_ first time too. 

It makes his stomach turn over and over in slow somersaults, but force of habit keeps bringing him back to it, circling uselessly. It’s like the instinct to switch on the lights the second there’s a power cut. _This had happened_. And even though he knows now _why_ he doesn’t, he still expects to find some memory of it, if only he looks hard enough. But there’s nothing there – his mind a blank, white surface, no amount of mental clawing revealing the revolving bookcase, the hidden door. 

It’s a betrayal. It’s a _double_ betrayal. His mind won’t uncover the whole truth, while post-wiping process his body had somehow still retained enough to fall back into old, unknown habits, as if Aaron was a kind of subconscious nicotine addiction. 

It feels like he’s been set up…by a stranger who looks exactly like him. _How could you do this?_ he wants to rail at this short-sighted mirror image. _Not exactly the world's most brilliant plan, was it? Maybe don’t add that ‘Mastermind’ to your business cards **just** yet_.

God, but he resents this unknowable past version for taking it upon himself to alter the course of Robert’s whole life. _What the fuck were you even **thinking**_?

At the same time, he’s also consumed with anger toward his current self. 

_Everything would’ve been **fine** , if you hadn’t fucked it all up_, beats in his head like an accusatory drum. _If you’d just stayed away, steered clear. How could you not have **known**? Not have twigged at least **some** part of it? Fuck, it was right there in front of you, not exactly a state secret_ …

And through all this castigation, running beneath it, Robert remembers. 

He remembers the magnetic pulse of Aaron’s presence around corners, behind him in the village shop, the _possibility_ of him every time Robert had walked into the pub. 

The smell from the back seat of the Allegro…Aaron’s fingers on the neck of a beer bottle, restlessly turning…a mouthful of coffee, bitter-hot, Aaron’s knee brushing against his under the table…cold stone against his fingertips, waiting for the sound of a key in the lock, as The Woolpack back door opens…

_Christ_ , but part of him can even see why the past him had done it. A clean slate. A new start. Red-circled mistakes all gone, like pages torn out of a copybook. Yeah, sign him up.

But Robert’s experiencing the other side of it now, the constant grope for something that he knows should _be there_ , but somehow doesn’t exist. He feels the loss like a limb, even though he doesn’t – wouldn’t _want_ – those memories back, exactly. At least he suspects he wouldn’t, seeing as the more current events keep playing inside his head, twisting like voodoo pins until it hurts to breathe, and all he wants is for it to _stop_. 

(He really _can_ sympathise with why the past him had done it).

…Aaron’s little intake of breath sometimes, when Robert has his mouth on his neck, tracing over the warm path of the vein there…the low pitch of his voice, when it’s just the two of them, and the way it curls all the way down Robert’s spine…the distinctive smooth-scarred sweep of his stomach under Robert’s hands…the place behind his ear where Robert can breathe in the mixture of hairproduct, whatever’s-cheapest showergel, and skin…his body, bared to Robert’s gaze or hidden under clothes, compact and solid and desirable…

Just a body, when everything’s said and done.

Except that the details are honed by familiarity, by feeling – giving each recollection a razor-edge that slices every time Robert tries to handle it, to push it away. And to think, he’d stood across from Aaron earlier, and actually _wanted_ this kind of pinsharp, photographic clarity. 

He frowns as the thought hits… _photographs_ …hand already reaching out for his mobile. A swipe across the screen and his passcode, and he’s confronted with – the only word for it is _evidence_.

The Allegro looks – good, almost…though probably only in comparison to how he knows it looks now. Still, it’s more of a backdrop to the focal point of the photograph. Aaron, leaning back against the car, just-opened beer bottle in his hand.

“ _What are you doing?”_

_“Yelp review. ‘Drinking on the job – would you trust this mechanic with your car?’”_

_Aaron rolled his eyes, before tipping the bottle back. “Says the bloke who **brought** the beer.”_

_“I told you, that was Vic.”_

_“Right. And why was that again?_ ”

Delete.

A cursory front view of the Allegro, though Belle Dingle is visible off to the side, along with the back of Aaron’s head. 

“ _– gonna stick the kettle on for a brew. You joining us, or…?_ ”

Delete.

A twenty second video of Aaron in Robert’s room (the box room) toeing off his boots and opening the button of his fly before –

“ _Did you ask me here to make a porno or something? Was that the plan?”_

_“You’re the one who turned down the deluxe suite with the panoramic view.”_

_Aaron made a face. “So?”_

_“So now I’ve got to find my entertainment elsewhere.”_

_“Yeah. You do,” Aaron said, crossing his arms until Robert had tossed the phone aside and_ –

Delete.

More Belle Dingle and a half-hearted series documenting the undersealing process. “ _Don’t tell me you actually plan on driving it_.” 

Robert highlights the whole set. Delete.

His finger moves faster, binning photograph after photograph. The box of shit that makes the Allegro run – innocuous and next door to anonymous to anyone else…but there’s Aaron’s hand in the frame. 

Olly-please’s engine, unimpressive on the floor of the garage and photographed from above, Robert’s shadow falling over it.

Another series – this one more along the lines of ‘attempting to provoke Aaron into a reaction – any reaction’, documenting his trip to find a wrench like it’s brainsurgery, while Aaron ignores him, head down and mouth tight. 

Christ – how many of these _are_ there? Delete.

A flash of skin halts Robert’s momentum, and he stares at the slightly blurry sight of Aaron’s face and bare shoulder squashed up next to his own.

“ _Wait, would’ja.”_

_“Why? S’because of you I’ve **got** pins and needles in my legs,” Aaron had grumbled._

_“Will you hang on a minute? …all right, ready. What – are you waiting for me to ask you to say ‘cheese’?”_

_“What are you **doing**?”_

_“Recording this for posterity, obviously.”_

_“What? Why?”_

_Half undressed, and twisted up together in the back seat – too close, wildly uncomfortable, and surrounded by the nose-itching musk of dog. And yet…“You might not have noticed, but…this is the first time you haven’t tried to kick me out right after we’re done.”_

_Aaron’s mouth opened, but it was like there was a time lag because it took a second for him to say, “Just – catching my breath, is all.”_

_His other hand was wedged down against Aaron’s back. He pressed his knuckles there, to make Aaron squirm, before raising his phone again. “Better take that photo quick then, hadn’t I?”_

He stares for another second before zooming out, back to thumbnail view, and doing his best to not-really-look, he selects each and every one, until he’s right back at the start –

“ _What are you doing?”_

_“What does it look like? I’m taking some photos.”_

_“Right. Because these are the moments you really wanna remember. How could I forget the time we removed the front bumper…s’golden, that.”_

He pauses for a second – still not looking, but it’s impossible not to notice the sheer number. Then – 

Delete. 

Gone. Like none of it had ever happened. 

He takes a breath, then clicks out of his empty photo library, and into contacts. Touches the first name on the list, finger hovering above the number that comes up. If he lets that finger drop, it’ll put a call through. He watches as he presses the edit button instead. 

A red box comes up. _Delete_ , it says. 

__

*****

Three o’ clock. Four o’ clock. Five o’ clock.

His eyelids are heavy, sandpapery, and finally, he just lets them close, exhausted into a thin kind of sleep, a wrung out dream.

_He’s driving away, out of Emmerdale. Just him, all alone from now on, his heart beating in great slow thumps as his hands grip the steering wheel and he keeps going, leaving everything behind._

_At the same time, inexplicably he’s standing in the middle of the street, watching the car as he drives it away. Until it’s gone, he’s gone, and now, now there’s nothing left…_

_A hand on his back, and he’s pulled – or maybe he turns – and he’s crying like a child, sobs barking through his chest, his forehead and nose pressed against a hard shoulder, as his father murmurs something in his ear…but when Robert tries to listen, to really hear whatever it is that Jack Sugden is saying…_

…he wakes, alone, the only sound in the room his own shaky breathing.

*****

There’s a rap on the box room door as he’s sitting up, bewildered and slow from too little rest. He splashes his face with water in the bathroom, and makes his way downstairs, feet dragging.

It’s Vic and Diane in the kitchen – no sign of Andy, which doesn’t surprise him. His sister is quiet, head down and constantly moving, finding things to do. Diane, on the other hand, sits at the table and makes small talk, taking sips from her tea whenever there’s a lull in the conversation. Her cup is almost empty already, and it’s only been a few minutes.

“It’s not that I’m trying to push you out or anything,” she says. “But all things considered, I thought it’d be easier to say our goodbyes here, rather than you calling to the pub.”

All things considered. 

Meaning Chas is on the warpath. Meaning Aaron’d told her. Or maybe she’d guessed, because last night Aaron’d gone home and been –

_Is he alright_? he doesn’t ask Diane, even though the question wraps around his chest, pulling it down like an anchor. He’ll have to get into the habit of not knowing, from now on.

“That’s why I packed Adam off early,” Vic says, as she wipes down the countertop. “Just as well he’s leaving really, because I don’t think he’d make it to the end of the day without a broken nose.”

She sounds disinterested, ignoring Robert and speaking entirely to Diane, whose eyes flick between the two of them, before lingering on Robert. 

“And you’re sure there’s nothing we could say that would change your mind?” she asks.

“Don’t bother, Diane.” It’s Vic who answers again. “You’re only wasting your time.”

Diane looks at him across the table, but he doesn’t say anything. “All right,” she says, and she’s gone back to that old, early way of addressing him – with this slight edge of caution, like he’s a dog who can’t be trusted not to snap. He can’t remember when she’d stopped doing that, but she must have, because it feels new again. 

“Then the one thing I’ll say to you is this. No matter how bad you think things are…it’s better to face up to them, instead of running away.” He stares at her red-painted nails, curled around her cup. “I know that’s what Jack would’ve told you too.”

Seeing as some of the last words his father had ever spoken to him had been entreaties to never come back, in order to avoid the messy consequences of Max King’s death…Robert feels justified in pointing out –

“Not always.”

Slowly, Diane gets to her feet. “No,” she says, with a shake of her head. “Whatever you might be going through, I won’t let you make a scapegoat of your dad, just to make yourself feel better. Not when he’s not here to defend himself.”

He looks at her, and she sighs down at him. “Good luck, Robert.” she says. “I hope…well. Wherever it is you find yourself, I hope you’ll be happy.”

And with the barest touch to his arm, she’s gone, leaving him and Vic in accusatory silence. 

Vic rinses Diane’s cup, dries it and puts it away. “I’d better get going too. You can lock up,” she says, turning and looking in his direction without ever looking at him. “Just put the keys through the letterbox when you leave.”

“Is that really all the goodbye I’m gonna get?”

“What else is there to say, Robert?”

It’s so impersonal, he finds himself pushing his chair back, and stepping into her space to half-ask, half-plead, “Vic – come on…please. You can’t want things to end like this.”

She shrugs.

“Look – I did what you wanted. I told Aaron. _You_ said, ‘if you ever want me to talk to you again, you’ll tell Aaron.’ And I _did_. You can’t go changing the rules now just because you don’t like the result.”

“Really,” Vic says, flat. “Because I thought that was exactly what I should do. Works for you, doesn’t it? You decide something’s not worth it – just ditch it and move on. Never mind who has to clean up afterwards.”

He doesn’t need it all laid out for him in black and white like that. It’s not black and white, and he tries to make her see that. “I just – I _can’t_ stay. Not now. You have to _see_ that – that I’m not doing this to hurt anyone.”

“But you are.” There’s no give to her, and strangely it makes him even more desperate to reach her – to have someone, one person, on his side. 

“I know Aaron’s your friend…but he’ll get over it,” he promises, because, because guilt trip or not – it _will_ be true. People leave, and people get over things – that’s just what happens.

He tries to touch her arm. “Vic, I swear, Aaron’ll be” –

“ _Don’t_.” She knocks his hand away so hard it actually hurts. 

( _okay_ , dies in his throat). 

“I’m not talking about _Aaron_!” Vic’s mouth is a line that keeps wobbling. His arm drops back by his side. “Aaron’s not the only one you erased, you know.”

He stares at her.

“But you never thought of that, did you?” his sister says, voice small. “No. Course not.”

“What” – he cuts himself off, because he’s not sure he wants to ask. He’s not sure he wants the answer – though it seems he’s going to get it anyway. 

Vic’s eyes are sheening over, causing her to blink – but she tries for matter of fact as she says, “You walked into the pub, and you looked at me like I was a stranger, all over again. And that _hurt_ , Robert – it really did. But then you asked if you could stay, and I thought…he’s come back. He’s come _home_ , and that has to _mean_ something.”

Pushing open the door of The Woolpack, after ten years of absence, to find an adult Vic on the other side…it had felt like a first meeting. It’s strange, the way he _knows_ his memory’s a compulsive liar…but every reminder still sends him spinning. 

For all that, that day in The Woolpack _still_ feels like their first meeting. It’s all he _has_ , and he can’t say anything. 

His sister doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in her version of events. “Everyone tried to warn me off – Andy, Diane, Adam. They all said it. _Don’t get your hopes up, Vic. You know what your brother’s like. You’re never gonna be able to rely on him, babe_. But you stuck around. Started patching things up with Andy, helping out... It felt like we were a real family again, for the first time in ages.”

Robert tells her, “That’s how it was for me too,” and she finally looks at him like she’s actually _seeing_ him.

“But it was _more_ than that. You were acting like – like this was where you wanted to _be_. Putting your whole life on hold just so you could hang out in Emmerdale fixing up a poxy old car.” 

It’s him that breaks the connection this time – gaze jerking away, but she’s relentless. “And _then_ …seeing you with Aaron…I started thinking that you getting your mind zapped or whatever might actually turn out to be _worth it_ in the end. Because it meant that you got to start over and be _happy_ for a change. And once we finally told you, you’d see that, and everything would just – _work out_. And not just for you. For all of us.”

She squeezes out a laugh as she swipes the heel of her hand across her face. “Yeah. I know. Turns out I should’ve been listening to what everyone else was telling me, after all.”

“Okay – so because I made one bad decision, it automatically cancels the good stuff out?” The words are there, but facing Vic, wet-eyed and upset, he finds his conviction wavering. “Everything you talked about…Andy, being a proper family…you’re telling me all that counts for nothing now? How does that even make any _sense_?”

“Because it’s not just _your_ bad decision!” she shoots back. “Don’t you get it? I _stood up_ for you, Rob. Against Andy, and Adam – even Diane. If I hadn’t…you wouldn’t’ve had the _chance_ to mess this up a second time.” 

And then, quietly, “I took a shot on you…and you let me down. Again.”

It doesn’t even hurt. It’s just…something that’s happening now, too close for him to really feel it. Everything that’s gone on since yesterday (it was just _yesterday_ ) has taken its toll, blunting all his reactions into a numb kind of tiredness. His little sister looks at him with crushing disappointment, and suddenly, the best he can manage is –

“Vic, I’m s”-

But she rounds on him, “ _Don’t_ say you’re sorry. Because it’s not going to change anything, is it?” A deep breath out. “I love you, but I can’t – I can’t keep _doing_ this, Robert. I can’t sit back and watch you make the same mistakes over and over. I can’t let you walk back into my life and turn everything upside down _again_ , and then tell you that everything’s fine. Because it’s _not_. And it’s not fair. Not to Andy and Diane. Or Aaron. Or me.”

She picks up her bag from the back of the chair and slings it over her shoulder. 

“The truth is…I’m erasing you, Robert.” She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe what she’s saying – but she doesn’t take it back. “Maybe not the same way you did…and it’s not like I _want_ to cut you out of my life, but…I’ve _got_ to. I’m done with _this_.”

“Done with _me_ , you mean,” he can’t stop himself from saying.

“If that’s how you want to see it.” He’s nailed by the directness of her gaze, the sadness in her face. “You’ve got to admit, it would’ve been a lot easier for everyone if you’d never come back.”

She’s still looking him straight in the eye when she decides, “There. Gone” – and walks out without saying goodbye, the front door closing softly behind her.

It still doesn’t hurt. 

It _will_. He knows that. But at least by the time it kicks in, there’ll be some distance between _then_ and _now_. He’ll be in London, or Manchester, or…who the fuck knows – somewhere else, anyway. Anywhere else. Getting on with his life. That’ll make it easier.

And maybe he doesn’t even _want_ it to be easier. It’s better, really, to have doused all his bridges in petrol and set them on fire. It makes it easier, knowing that he hasn’t got any other options. Andy, Diane…Vic. There’s no way back now, not with any of them.

And that means there’s nothing holding him here, in this cramped little village. No family, or friends, or…ten thousand pound investments. No ties. All he has to do is walk out of this house, and he’s on his way to building a new life. New town, new job, new house. A new pub to hang out in. New acquaintances to buy drinks for. New girlfriend, given a bit of time. 

He can remake himself to be bigger and better than before. It’s not that hard. He’s done it once already. 

Robert doesn’t move, standing all alone in Keepers Cottage. 

Slowly, he takes out his mobile and flicks it into life. Goes into contacts. It’s still there. _Aaron_. The first name in his phonebook. His last unsevered link to…whatever this was. 

He pushes the edit button and _Delete_ appears again, framed in warning-red. Like this is the wrong choice. 

Like there’s a choice at all.

There’s no point in _keeping_ it. He won’t be coming back to Emmerdale – he’ll never see Aaron again. Even on the slim chance he does eventually manage to talk Vic round, she'll never let Aaron’s name drop casually in conversation. Not now.

And Robert will go on with his life someplace where no-one even _knows_ that there’s a bloke called Aaron Livesy who lives in the backrooms of his mum’s pub, in a little nothing of a village called Emmerdale. Someplace where no-one will have any idea that Aaron is getting up, and working at the scrapyard with his best mate, and having a drink afterwards. Going out, maybe, sometimes. Nothing special. No- _one_ special. 

_Robert_ will know, of course. But he’ll be the only one, and the thought makes the last few months seem a little less real already. 

_Delete_ , and nobody will ever know enough to ask. Robert will be able to pretend like nothing’d ever happened. 

It can almost be like he’d never met Aaron in the first place. 

Again.

He stares down at the screen, before shoving his mobile in his pocket, and striding for the door.

*****

To all appearances, the scrapyard is deserted – a breeze ruffles through the untidy sprawl of junk and only serves to emphasise the stillness, the lack of human presence. But in the middle of it, there’s the portacabin, and that’s where Robert aims himself.

Turns out he’s right – and wrong at the same time, and there’s a stunned second of silence before Adam’s drawing to his feet in his blaring orange safety vest. “What are _you_ doing here?” he demands.

“Where’s Aaron?”

“ _‘Where’s Aaron_?’ Are you for real?” Adam’s hands are clenched into fists…his whole body looks clenched as he comes out from behind the desk.

Robert doesn’t retreat – and he doesn’t have the time or energy for placation, so he stands his ground and says, “I know, all right – but this is _important_. So maybe could you just postpone the punching for a minute and tell me where he is?”

Adam gets right into his face, hard expression jarring with the genial set of his features. “Y’know, the only reason I ‘postponed the punching’ in the first place was for Vic. Turns out, that was a mistake. Maybe if I’d popped you one as soon as you showed up, none of us’d be in this mess.” 

Suddenly both his hands shoot out, shoving Robert backwards. Robert stumbles and rights himself, body tensed and eyes wary for any further signs of movement on Adam’s part. But Adam just stands there, breathing hard. 

“Aaron’s my mate – my best mate,” he says. “If I _did_ know where he was, you’d be the _last_ person I’d tell.”

*****

Aaron’s not answering his phone, and obviously, The Woolpack’s out. Except that the scrapyard had been his first guess, and if Aaron’s not _there_ , then odds are he’s probably holed up in the pub backrooms –

– Chas standing guard at the counter, with optional flaming sword. Yeah, there’s no way Robert’s getting through that front door. Not in one piece, anyway.

But Aaron’s still in there. 

It’s early enough that there aren’t that many people around – just a bloke with a dog stopped in the middle of the street with Pearl Ladderbanks, apparently touting for business. 

“Well if you’d drop in later, I’m sure we’d be thrilled to have a look at those anal glands for you,” she says as Robert passes, projecting his most confident air as he crosses toward The Woolpack – glancing over his shoulder before veering off to skulk around the side of the building.

There’s no-one out back, just a small cluster of empty cars ( _Mate, I don’t care how dark it is, if we have it off in the middle of The Woolie car park, someone will notice_ ). Robert briefly considers knocking, but then without giving himself time to second guess, he lays a hand on the door – relief with an undertow of dismay surging through him when he discovers that it’s unlocked. He steps inside, breath hushed in his throat.

To his left, the stairs beckons, compelling and foreboding at the same time - and Robert hesitates. Straight ahead, he can make out the murmur of voices from the kitchen and living area. The door is pushed closed, but it hasn’t been entirely shut – and when Robert slips closer, he can hear –

“– knew this was gonna happen. I _knew_ it, but I stood back and did nothing.” A short laugh. “Mother of the year, me. And now, now I want to help _so_ badly, but I just feel _powerless_. What can I do? Tell me. Tell me _anything_ I can do or say, to make it better.”

_Chas_. He has to steel himself, but she’s not talking to _herself_ , is she? And it’s that that gives him the impetus to barrel inside. The two heads visible over the back of the sofa turn, and there’s another of those arrested silences as he meets the gaze of Chas Dingle and – _shit_ – Paddy Kirk. 

He just has time to note the empty kitchen table and confirm Aaron’s absence, before Chas stands, very slowly. “Paddy – am I dreaming, or did _Robert Sugden_ walk in just now?” She says his name through gritted teeth. 

“Er…” Paddy says, as if he’s not quite sure himself.

Robert keeps his head up. “I need to talk to Aaron,” he says, because it’s the truth, beating in his ears like blood. 

There’s a brief, homicidal pause, before Chas addresses Paddy again. “Did you hear that? He wants to _talk_ to Aaron.” But she doesn’t take her eyes off Robert. “How about ‘ _over my dead body_ ’? Or better yet – over _yours_.”

“Seriously…don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?” Paddy asks, as he rises to flank Chas, placing a supportive hand on her arm. Two against one – very subtle. “You really need to leave.”

Chas stares him down. “While you can still _walk_.” 

“Look, I don’t know what Aaron’s said” –

She laughs, her mouth twisting. “Said? He didn’t need to _say_ anything – you ripping his heart out was written all over his face.”

It’s a losing battle, but he won’t admit defeat. He _can’t_. “Five minutes,” Robert says. “Just give me five minutes.”

She takes a step toward him. “Chas…” Paddy warns. But she takes another step, and then another, until she’s right in front of Robert. 

“I wouldn’t give you five more _seconds_ after the way you’ve treated him. I don’t know how you live with yourself, I really don’t,” she says, then cocks her head to the side. “No, wait…actually, I do. You just book an appointment to get all those nasty reminders of what a horrible person you are pulled out of your head, don’t you? _Poof_ …so you can start all over again, minus the guilt. That’s how much of a disgusting, _twisted_ excuse for a human being you are – even _you_ can’t stick it.” 

“Here we go – one bacon sarnie, and all’s right with the world. Well, ‘all’ might be a bit of an exaggeration, but at least it might help take your mind off” –

In a blur of white topped with bandana, Marlon blunders to a stop, plate in his hand. “Oh. Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t realise I was interrupting…whatever this is…”

He makes no move to leave, but Chas ignores him. “I don’t want you anywhere _near_ my son,” she tells Robert. “And luckily, neither does he, anymore. At least, going by what he told me ten minutes ago.”

“ _Oh_ ,” An exhale off to the side. “Aaron’s come _home_ then – that’s a relief. You should’ve _said_ ” –

Robert’s gaze snaps over to Marlon, then back to Chas, whose suddenly frozen expression betrays the truth. 

“…shut up, Marlon,” Marlon realises, too late – because Robert’s already turning for the door, Chas’ fingers, her nails briefly scraping his forearm as she calls after him, “You _stay away_ from him, you hear me? You stay aw” –

*****

The garage, then. Aaron’s got to be at the garage. Robert strides down Main Street, turning by Dale Head – to find two blue-overalled figures just around the corner.

“– knock off then, and have an early lunch,” Ross Barton is saying to Dan-the-Mechanic, whose voice rises in disbelief. “Early lun – it’s half nine!”

“Yeah – and?”

Dan-the-Mechanic considers it. “Suppose it does beat standin’ round, waiting for the axe” –

“– murderer,” Ross finishes, as Robert skirts around them.

“Ey, mate,” Dan calls, forcing him to turn back. “You’re, ah – not thinking of going in _there_ …” he jerks his head toward the garage, “…are ya?”

“Yeah. Why?” Robert says. Defensiveness lifts his shoulders, and he stares Dan down. _Everyone knows about you and Aaron_ …

“Erm…no reason,” Dan-the-Mechanic says. “Only, Cain’s a bit busy at the moment…so…now might not be the best time.”

He seems ill at ease, speech full of awkward pauses that instead of putting Robert off, only serve to make him so impatient he’s moving before Dan’s even made it to the end of his halting excuses.

“Hang on!” There’s a shout from behind him, accompanied by a more gleeful, “This should be good” – but Robert ignores both and charges inside the garage.

He stops dead at the sight of the Allegro. Or rather, what remains of it. _Jesus_. He’d been there last night, and that had been bad – but in the cold light of day, without the shock to distract him…it’s fucking awful. The thing looks like it’s been _annihilated_. 

Cain – and it _is_ just Cain, _fuck_ – looks up from surveying the damage, broken glass scrape-crunching under his feet as he turns. He doesn’t make any further move though, just fixes Robert with burning eyes.

That is, until Ross whistles from behind Robert, and claps Robert on the shoulder. “I take it the earth moved for you too?”

Spell broken, Cain lunges for Robert, and –

“Witness!” Dan-the-Mechanic yelps. “Witness! Witness!”

“Good,” Cain says. His grip tightens on Robert’s shirt. “Means you get to identify the body when I’m done.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Dan says. Then, with a wince of panic as Cain’s arm draws back, “In case you ‘aven’t noticed, this is a garage – not flamin’ Goodfellas.”

“Nice one. Classic,” Ross approves, arms crossed as he leans back against a Toyota Yaris like all this is playing across a big screen.

Cain doesn’t take his eyes off Robert, even as he speaks to Dan. “Meaning?”

“Meaning… _Cain_ …I can’t just stand here and watch while you beat someone’s face in,” Dan says, with a kind of beleaguered exasperation – like beating people’s faces in is the equivalent of leaving towels on the floor instead of dropping them in the laundry basket. For Cain Dingle, it’s possible that it is. “Is this _really_ necessary?”

“Oh I think so,” Cain says. “Been a long time coming, this has.”

“Go on then.” Robert’s mouth is dry, but he forces a neutral expression onto his face, forces his body to loosen. Inside it’s a different story, but there’s no way he’s gonna feed in to Cain Dingle’s scare tactics. “It won’t actually accomplish anything – but hey, if it makes _you_ feel better…”

He jerks his chin up. “Do your worst.”

“Oh, I plan on it.”

“Sugden’s got a point, though, hasn’t he?” Ross muses, adding, with pure shit-stirring enjoyment, “Cause no matter how hard you hit ‘im, it’s not gonna make your Aaron any less fu” –

Robert doubles over, breath squeezing out in an undignified wheeze, as Cain’s fucking _granite_ fist connects with his stomach without warning. He retches for air. “Count yourself lucky,” Cain tells him, before leaning close and promising, “I _ever_ see your face round here again…I’m gonna kill ya. Witnesses, or no witnesses.”

And he shoves Robert away from him, before rounding on Ross, who puts both hands up in mocking surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s not like _I’m_ the one who had me wicked way with h” –

“You keep your mouth shut…or I’ll shut it for you,” Cain says. 

Through watering eyes, Robert watches Ross drag his thumb and index finger across his lips. It’s not exactly the most sincere vow of silence, but Cain only looms at him for another second before striding away, out of the garage.

Robert puts his hands on his knees and attempts to straighten, taking little sips of air as his pancaked lungs slowly re-inflate.

Next to him, Dan blows out a breath that rounds his cheeks, and says, “You _are_ lucky, mate. I was just going to suggest that I could close my eyes.” 

“Yeah. Looks like you’ll have to go somewhere else for your tuneups from now on.” Ross pushes off the Yaris and eyes a bolt at his feet, before kicking it, sending it spinning across the ground, back to the rest of the debris. “Shame. I was really rooting for you two.” 

“I’m touched,” Robert rasps out. 

“Yeah – you wish.” Ross nods to the Allegro, and tells Dan, “By the way – not cleaning that up. See you in a couple of hours.”

And with a salute, he swings away.

“So…no chance you and Aaron might patch things up, then?” Dan asks, as Ross’ footsteps recede.

Robert manages to turn his head and glare, and Dan-the-Mechanic hastens to explain, “Not being nosy or anything – just, y’know, from a workplace standpoint. If I thought it’d help Cain’s mood, I’d offer to take Aaron out meself.” He stops. “Or maybe not. Our Kerry can be a bit volatile. Of course,” his gaze drifts to the battered heap to his right, “you’d know all about that.”

*****

Robert calls Aaron three times, hanging up each time before it goes to voicemail. “Come on, Aaron,” he mutters. “Pick up your fucking phone.”

Aaron doesn’t.

He walks down the street, resisting the urge to hunch on the rare occasions he meets someone’s eye. _Everyone knows about you and Aaron_.

There’s a delivery van parked outside the shop, bloke unloading a small crate of wine from inside. _He_ probably doesn’t know, Robert thinks.

David’s standing with a dark-haired, put-together looking woman he almost doesn’t recognise without Sam Dingle trailing behind her, like an oversized accessory. 

“– sorry, but if I see her…” he can hear David say as he approaches.

“Right. Thanks,” the woman turns and hurries off, with a bare glance at Robert as she passes. David offers him a nod and a half-hearted wave before disappearing back inside the shop. _They_ definitely know.

_They knew yesterday as well. And the day before that. Big deal_.

But it _is_ a big deal. Easy for Vic to dismiss – it’s not her life being pawed over and passed around like a tray of savouries at a party. Your typical nothing-better-to-do small-village reaction – and God, but he _hates_ it. At the back of his mind, he can hear Aaron scoff. 

_So? What you waiting for, then? We’re done here_.

Except that’s not true, is it? Or he’d be halfway to somewhere else already, not still wandering around Emmerdale like – like – _it doesn’t **change** anything…Everyone knows about you and Aaron – and_ –

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels the tired pull of cliché, but skirts the graveyard instead of going inside. His parents are dead – he’s not going to find comfort from standing in front of their headstones and pretending their silence holds some weight. 

Still, Robert finds himself lingering, leaning on the bridge, looking out over the cemetery as he takes his phone out of his pocket again. His parents are just two of a crowd of headstones at this distance. Nothing too meaningful but – there in his field of vision, all the same. 

He holds his mobile in his hand. 

He can’t bring himself to believe that Jack would’ve been proud, or happy, or anything but maybe, at best, stoically enduring of this latest disappointment. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine Jack taking to Chrissie, even – Aaron’d be miles out of his comfort zone. Fuck – it’s not like he’s even within _Robert’s_ comfort zone, not really. 

But Robert’s _here_. He’s still here – and whatever happens, good or bad, he’s not letting what his dad would’ve thought sway him, either way. Maybe he’d have had Jack’s respect for that, at least. 

As for his mum… If there’s anything besides cold consolation to the things that people say at funerals, then…then she already knows. And if not – well. It’s not like he could tell her now. Even if he wanted to.

He calls Aaron again, eyes sweeping the huddle of headstones, Katie’s cross. It flashes through his mind, the way she’d looked at him the last time he’d seen her – the last time he _remembers_ seeing her. The resignation in her eyes, the finality of the taxi door closing behind her. 

He grips his mobile tighter in his hand, lets it go through to voicemail just to hear Aaron’s sparing ‘ _Leave a message_ ’. It’s a comfort, proof there’s still hope. Of what, he doesn't know - but…something. Robert might not be able to find him right now, but he’s not completely out of reach. He’s not _gone_. 

The tone sounds and fuck – what’s he supposed to say? The recording silence drags out, demanding words – any words. 

“Aaron? It’s me.” He runs his free hand through his hair – trees and green grass and grey, weathered headstones catching in the corner of his eye. “Look, whatever you’re thinking, I get it. I do. But I – I need to talk to you. Please.” He waits for a second, but he can’t think of anything else, anything more compelling, so he finishes. “Just. Call me back when you get this?”

*****

He waits for a bit. But by ten past eleven he’s flagging, glancing at his unresponsive phone screen every so often with bleary eyes, feet dragging. He has no idea where Aaron is, and Aaron doesn’t seem in any hurry to let him know, either.

It’s not like he _wants_ to, but in the end, he heads for the café - to give his sleep-deprived body a much-needed jolt of caffeine, and to consider his next steps. Though even that simple task is made needlessly complicated by the fact that the entrance to said café is being blocked by Sam Dingle and Bernice – neither of whom show any signs of shifting as he approaches.

Bernice clutches her takeaway cup and says, “…teenage thing, most likely. Understandable, really, considering the tight leash Cain’s had her on, lately.”

Sam furrows his brow at her. “It’s our _Belle_ I’m talking about – not some dog.”

She catches sight of Robert and straightens. “I’m sure she’ll turn up soon,” she reassures Sam, before hurrying past.

“Robert! I thought you’d be gone by now.” She adjusts the slipping strap of her handbag. “Sorry I missed your leaving do this morning – things have been hectic lately, and it was a bit short-notice.”

He’s really not in the mood for delays, small talk, Bernice, or any combination thereof. So he says, pointedly, “Yeah, not sure if ‘do’s the right word for when your family get out the pitchforks and tell you you’ve outstayed your welcome.”

“Roast, maybe?” She suggests with papering-over-the-awkward-moment gameness, before they both lapse into silence. She gives him a sympathetic grimace, and touches his arm. “Well. Best of luck with everything, anyway.”

Her footsteps click a quick retreat on the pavement, and Robert proceeds through the now thankfully Sam-Dingleless café door. 

He keeps his head down, social antipathy practically radiating from every pore as he passes the three women seated by the table closest to the door. It does nothing to stop Bob from greeting him with a cheery, “Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” and a wink as he reaches the counter.

Robert stares at him, and Bob blinks back, before clarifying. “Oh, not _me_. No, I was talking about…” he trails off with a significant raise of his eyebrows, as he nods over Robert’s shoulder. Robert turns. 

There, sitting at a table in the far corner, is Aaron.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life altering truth it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALMOST THERE. I CAN NEARLY TASTE THE SWEET TANG OF FINALITY!
> 
> Wasn't sure where to end this one, tbh...might have to come back to it and see how I feel, and whether another piece needs to be grafted on.

“So – the usual then, or – or…y’know what, why don’t I just give you a minute to think about it?” Bob’s voice fades to a background yammer as Robert moves across the café. 

Aaron’s slumped, head bowed and arms resting on the table, a mug of something by his elbow. When Robert draws closer, he can see that it’s coffee. No steam rises from it, even though it’s still full. 

Two tables away, he just has enough time to see Carly Hope’s grin flicker into a frown when he doesn’t return it, eyes glancing between him and the back of Aaron’s head. All he can do is try to ignore this, even as it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. _Everyone knows_ –

Robert gets so close his leg bumps right against the side of the table, and he waits for Aaron to look up. But that doesn’t happen. He keeps staring straight ahead and down, even though he has to have registered Robert’s presence by now. Probably knew the second Robert walked through the door, thanks to the Hope Telegraph over there. 

“Well, it’s the last place I thought of looking – I’ll give you that,” he says, trying for light. And it’s true – as boltholes go, he wouldn’t have pegged it as Aaron’s style. Though maybe that’s the point. Yeah, there are more onlookers (Robert looks around and catches the tableful of women he’d passed on his way in, staring – they quickly glance away, each one in a different direction), but on the other hand, there’s less chance of Chas or Paddy plopping down opposite to inflict a painfully earnest heart-to-heart. 

Aaron still doesn’t move – doesn’t give him anything more to work with than his short dark hair and a fraction of side profile. 

“I tried to call a couple of times,” Robert continues. He nods at Aaron’s mobile, lying in plain view on the table. “Must’ve set your phone to silent.” 

“No,” is all Aaron says. He still doesn’t look up. 

Robert shifts on his feet. He’s suddenly and profoundly aware of his hands, dangling empty by his sides. “Your mum’d probably appreciate a call too. Got the impression she might be a bit worried – going by the way she went for me this morning.”

That does get him a slow raise of Aaron’s head. 

His face is pale and tired…but the thing that really gets Robert is the way he looks at him with an expression starkly devoid of any sort of feeling, good or bad. “Weren’t you leaving or something? Thought you’d be long gone by now.” 

All he can do is look back, and it’s only when he takes in the tight skin around Aaron’s eyes and mouth that he can say, “Changed my mind. I’m not going anywhere.”

But it sounds too big, his heart tightening in panic at Aaron’s answering shrug of disinterest, and he immediately walks it back. “– at least, not without getting some answers first.”

“Right.” When it becomes clear that Robert’s waiting, he gives a little, _What’s it to me_? shake of his head. “Good luck with that.”

“You’re the one who said we should talk,” Robert reminds him. And calmly, even as his fingers curl up into his palms, “So – all right. Let’s do it.”

“Changed my mind. Seems like there’s a lot of that going round.”

“…meaning you’d prefer it if I left, instead,” Robert says. 

No response – which says it all, really.

“Fine. Okay. If that’s what you want.” Aaron’s gone back to staring at the table, like Robert’s already gone. It makes him set his jaw and add, “ _After_ we talk.”

Aaron studies him for a moment. Robert looks back, holding eye contact and gritting his teeth, because he’s not backing down, a thread of determination knotting and knotting in his chest.

Finally Aaron makes a small impatient movement with his hands. “Well? What you waiting for?”

The sudden capitulation feels like he’s pitched forward without warning, and he looks around, aware again of their surroundings. Bob has a silver display tray in his hands, mindlessly polishing even as the bulk of his attention is clearly focused elsewhere. On Aaron. 

And Robert. 

They’re not so close to the counter or other customers that there’s any risk of being overheard. All the same he hunches his shoulders in his jacket and lowers his voice. “Can we go somewhere else?”

Aaron considers it. “No.”

Right. _Not_ capitulation, then.

And it’s defiance, as much as anything else, that has him dropping into the seat opposite. “Nice try, but I’m not gonna turn tail just because we’re in a public place.”

“Don’t know why. It’s never stopped you before,” Aaron points out. Over his shoulder, Robert can see Carly, watching. He focuses on Aaron, and tries to let anything more peripheral blur away. It doesn’t entirely work. 

“Okay, I get it,” Robert says. “I was a bad” – he has to force it out, “– boyfriend or whatever.”

He says it to prove something to Aaron, and maybe it does, but not in the way he wants. Aaron’s eyebrows rise at the awkward, telling pause, rather than the word that follows.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

There’s movement as Carly gets to her feet, and Robert waits until she’s passed before saying, “No?”

He can feel Aaron noting it. “Seein’ as I wasn’t _ever_ your boyfriend. More of a dirty little secret.”

“It’s a bit hard to be out and proud when you’re having an affair,” Robert shoots back. Aaron’s stare is even, like he knows it for the excuse it is. “You called me your ex.”

Aaron looks away.

“Among other things.”

“So?”

“So?” Robert repeats. “I’d like to know if all of that was true.” He reminds Aaron, “Egotist, narcissist, porn-watching psychopath” –

“Closet case.” Aaron finishes. “I know what I said.”

Robert feels like he’s burning underneath his skin. He can’t control the muscles in his face. Aaron watches him for a minute before he concedes, “The porn was Lachlan’s.”

Well. It’s _an_ answer.

“Right. Thanks.” He can’t stop himself from slumping down in his seat as he mutters, “We’re a love story for the ages, clearly.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything. 

Then, a flash of oversized dark flannel to the left, and Carly Hope is suddenly standing beside their table. Her eyes slide from Aaron to him, but her voice is innocuously pleasant as she inquires, “All right?”

_How’s the car? Aaron managed to get your motor running yet?_

“Yeah,” Robert manages, when it becomes clear that Aaron isn’t going to. “Fine.” That done, he waits for her to twig the less than welcoming atmosphere and leave.

“Er – you’d better make it more than fine,” she says instead. “Because I’m just after ordering a refill, but duty calls – and duty sounds pretty desperate. So _I_ get time and a half…and _you_ get a free coffee. Must be your lucky day.”

She deposits the mug she’s holding down on the table. He stares at the steam swirling lazily upwards before he dredges up the appropriate, “Um – thanks?”

Carly shrugs it off. “Random act of kindness. Just – don’t forget to pass it on, yeah?”

Her expression doesn’t betray anything, but her fingers press for an instant against the centre of Robert’s back, so brief he’s only just registering it as she’s walking away. 

Inside his pocket, his phone vibrates, but Robert ignores it and waits. Aaron drags his hands over his face, breathing out heavily, before letting them drop again. He regards Robert with worn-out eyes. “I don’t get what you’re still doing here.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Robert says, because he’s right now sitting opposite _the bloke he’s been shagging_ – and not in some anonymous, who-would-even-care? town or city…but in a small café in the very village where he grew up. Where everyone not only _knows_ (his eye falls to Carly’s recently placed mug of coffee and he barely suppresses a grimace) but where they feel invested enough to fucking _matchmake_. 

It’s unbelievable, that this is where he finds himself. He would rather be literally anywhere else on earth. Except…

“…but here I am.” He leans forward on his elbows, unblinking. “So spill it. Give me all the gory details.”

“‘The gory details’?” Aaron repeats. “This is something that _actually happened_ , not some shitty DVD I’m catching you up on.”

“Yeah and I’m not _saying_ that!” He can feel the interest level rising behind him. He doesn’t look, he can’t – but his voice flinches into something quieter. He spreads his palms, open on the table. “Just. This isn’t exactly the easiest situation for me, either, y’know. I’m _trying_ , all right? Probably fucking it up, but – you should be used to that by now.”

Aaron shakes his head – probably at the (completely justified) self-pity – though he also tells Robert, “Trust me – you don’t want ‘the gory details.’” 

“It’s my life too,” Robert says, just as intent. “It happened to me as well.”

“Yeah. But you got went and got rid of it.”

He looks away, down at the suddenly odd contrast between his fingertips and the grain of the table. 

“Probably right, too,” Aaron adds – and the unexpectedness of it whiplashes Robert’s head upright again. “I mean…why not chuck it? Not like any of it’s good for anything.”

It takes a second before he can recognise the words for the scorched earth tactic they are. It’s just another way to get him to back off. Another way to hurt him. 

…it’s fucking working. 

“Last night…well, it made it pretty clear, didn’t it? This – us…it was always messed up.” Maybe Aaron even believes what he’s saying, because he sounds… _done_. Like he doesn’t only want to destroy the Allegro, but to go back in time and smash it up with both of them inside. Just to make absolutely sure.

“Why’d you do it, then?” Robert hears himself twist it back. “If it was that awful the first time round, why’d you bother getting involved with me again?”

Aaron makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a refusal – and Robert’s fucking phone starts vibrating again. But he’s not taking any more attempted withdrawals from right here and right now. He presses forward, across the table into Aaron’s space, and as if in response, his mobile quietens. “No, come on. At least _I’ve_ got the excuse of not knowing any better. What were _you_ in it for?”

He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. Aaron’s the one who looks away. 

_Say it_ , Robert thinks. _Say it_.

And at the same time – _Don’t. Don’t say it_. 

“It’s not like it matters now, is it?” And with frustration grinding under the words, “What are you _after_ here, Robert? You could hardly even look at me last night – but now I’m meant to believe you woke up this morning and fancied a catch up? Yeah. Not likely.” His mouth is a flat line. 

“So I’m not supposed to be curious about the giant hole in the middle of my life?” He can see Aaron drawing breath and so Robert hastens to add, before he can, “Yeah, that _I put there_ , I know. But come on – I’m not even supposed to ask?”

“You can ask,” Aaron allows. “But – I’m not gonna tell you. I mean, why would I wanna go over something that I wish never happened?” A pause. “You know what…even if I _wanted_ to give you the whole story…I don’t think I _could_.”

Aaron looks at him, frown digging a deep line between his eyebrows, and makes it simple. “So just _go_ , Robert.”

He doesn’t. 

He stays sitting and the words build up in the back of his throat – but he can’t say them…not until Aaron makes a sound, and pushes his chair, breaking their stalemate and making to stand. To leave.

“Vic said it probably meant something,” he blurts out. It halts Aaron, his hands braced on the table to push himself upright. “That I came back.”

Aaron looks at him and slowly sinks down in his seat again. But as if to dispel any hope the move inspires, he says, careful, “Thing is, I don’t know that it does.”

The kitchen in Keepers Cottage, phone in his leaden hand. _Aaron_. “Well what else would I be here for?”

“Have a laugh. Pass some time.” He shrugs. “I don’t know…but it’s a safe bet your subconscious is as big a prick as the rest of you.”

“Wow. Your faith in me is really touching.” _God_. Can’t Aaron make anything easy? Just this once?

Apparently not, as he fires back, “You want me to have faith, then stop hiding behind what Vic thinks. And, while you’re at it, stop actin’ like you need _me_ to tell you what this was. What it meant.” 

There’s skinning, no-bullshit eye-contact, as Aaron lays it out. “Something, or nothing…you should know. You were there.”

_Something_. 

Or _nothing_.

He ricochets between both possibilities, his heart squeezed in his chest at either choice. 

“Yeah. Thought so.” Aaron says. He shakes his head. “See you, Robert.”

He makes to rise again, and –

“ _It’s not nothing_.”

It’s not a choice either, it just bursts out, panicked and instinctive, in response to the threat of Aaron walking away. Slightly calmer, he repeats, “It’s not nothing, okay?”

Aaron stills. Robert watches as he swallows. “Then what is it?”

He’s here. He’s sitting here, instead of on the nearest bus or train, looking out the window as the wheels swallow up his past, carry him to a fresh start. He’s _here_ , because standing in Keepers Cottage – he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make his feet move away from Aaron, instead of toward. And that means…

He’s still not sure _what_ it means. Or maybe…maybe he’s not sure he _wants_ to know what it means. 

But he’s _here_.

That’s…that’s _something_ , isn’t it? It has to be.

Aaron’s hands are on the table, palms flat, like he’s still thinking about getting up. Leaving. Robert takes a breath, and tries to tune out their surroundings – the low murmur of conversation, Bob polishing holes in his trays, the swing of the café door and the clacking heels of a new customer. He pushes it all as far away as he can as he stares at Aaron’s hands…so familiar – blunt and solid, his nails bitten away to nothing.

It’s not that much of a distance, but it feels huge, like he’s bridging a chasm, some vast span…

…as his own fingers slowly start the journey across the table. Toward Aaron’s.

But before he can reach his destination, the clacking gets louder, more intrusive as the heels move toward them, and he snatches his hand back as –

“Robert! Thank goodness you’re still here!”

It’s like having been underwater – his ears pop, and the ambient noise comes rushing back in. He’s suddenly very aware of their location, how _open_ it is. He slides his hand back, off the table, to rest clenched on his knee.

“Bernice – what” –

“Would it kill you to check your phone every once in a while? I’ve been _frantic_ trying to get hold of you.”

He glances over. Aaron’s back to that set, wiped clean look, like whatever Robert had been on the verge of has just – slipped away. Frustration surges through him. “Listen, _Bernice_ – kind of busy right now. Whatever it is, can it wait?”

“ _Can it_ –?” Robert winces at the volume of her incredulity, while two of the three women at the other table pause in the middle of picking up bags and coats. She flaps her hands at them. “What? Go on!”

She turns back to Robert and Aaron as the café door signals their exit. “No, it can _not_ wait! And if you don’t want a scene, you’ll come with me right away!”

He glances around. Bob’s staring openly, tray forgotten, while the third woman shows no signs of leaving, propping her chin on her hand and watching with interest as Bernice pulls at Robert’s arm. The café door swings open again. Great. More gawping onlookers.

“And this is you _avoiding_ a scene, is it? Bernice – what’s going on?”

It takes him a second because he’s focused on her…and his attention only shifts to the person who’s just entered, when Aaron goes suddenly still. 

He turns his head. 

“I’m sorry – did you want to answer…or should I?” Chrissie says to Bernice, before addressing him. “Hello, Robert.”

“ _Chrissie_ …?”

He stares.

She’s standing right there. It feels like a dream. Chrissie. His wife, still. She looks both familiar and different at the same time. She’s wearing a striped, round necked blazer he remembers. Her hair is shorter than he’s ever seen it. 

Robert’s eyes dart to Aaron and then away, like he’s been burned. “What are you doing here?”

“You should know,” she tells him. “You’re the one who wanted an in-person meeting, after all. Or was that just another way of shifting the goalposts and delaying the inevitable? Because I have to say, I’ve been looking forward to telling you _exactly_ what I think of you and your underhanded tactics – how did you put it? Oh yes – _to your face_.”

Her words make sense – he knows he’d asked for this. It just – seems like it had been years ago, instead of weeks. 

“So…was it just me you wanted to warn Robert about, or was there anything else?” Chrissie asks Bernice, who says, semi-apologetically, “Just – just you, really…”

“Good.” Chrissie raises her eyebrows, then, when Bernice fails to take the hint, she says, pointed, “Are you planning on sitting in? Taking notes?”

“Oh! No, no, of course not,” Bernice says. “I’ll – go. Let you and Robert talk things over.”

She doesn’t get far – as she hurries past the now-depleted trio’s table, the lone remaining dark-haired woman catches hold of her wrist and hauls her into one of the unoccupied seats next to her, with an audible, “Where d’you think you’re goin’? It’s just gettin’ good.” 

Chrissie watches this, mouth pursed. “Nice to know some things never change around here,” she says. “Lip-reading and conjecture – Emmerdale at its finest. I really don’t know how you stand it, Robert.”

Her gaze flicks to Aaron for the first time. “Though I’m sure you think the place has its charms.”

Aaron’s got his head down, pulled in on himself. “I should” – he mumbles, as he tries to get up. 

Chrissie puts out a hand. “Oh no – I wouldn’t dream of asking _you_ to leave. After all, there are no secrets here. Not between _you_ two, at least. Or…are there?” She looks between him and Robert.

“I know the truth, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Robert says. 

She makes an inquiring noise. 

“About what happened. Between – between us.” It’s weird to say – whatever about _knowing_ otherwise, Chrissie and Aaron together feels…antithetical. Them just being in the same place at the same time is wildly wrong, like day and night trying to exist simultaneously. 

Chrissie smirks.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just a bit surreal to hear _you_ talking about ‘the truth.’” She adjusts the enormous camel-coloured bag on her shoulder. “Still, it does make things easier. Obviously I had my suspicions that I’d find the two of you holed up together…but I don’t know if I could have kept a straight face while asking you to introduce me to the man you cheated on me with.”

With a shake of his head, Aaron’s on his feet and pushing past her.

Shit.

“Aaron – A”- Robert turns in his seat, but Aaron keeps moving, resolute, chin tucked down, and eyes on the floor.

Mock-concerned, Chrissie asks, “Was it something I said?” before moving into Aaron’s vacated seat, and calling over Robert’s shoulder, “Latte please, Bob.”

Across from them, the dark-haired woman watches this, before jerking her head toward the door Aaron’s just exited from, prompting hopefully, in a Tyneside-soaked accent, “Not gonna run after him then?”

Bernice grimaces at her and smacks her hand. 

“What?” she says. “I was only askin’ – if he’s gonna go all Love Actually, I’m gonna need a bit of a warning. And a head start.”

“Right – fun as it’s been… _catching up_ , there’s really no point in putting this off,” Chrissie says, as she pulls out a sheaf of paper from her bag. She drops it on the table in front of Robert, and raises her eyebrows at him until he finally picks up the paper and tries to scan it. 

He frowns when he realises, “This is a dissolution of partnership. For the business.”

“Well, it was hardly going to be plans for a second honeymoon was it? Seeing as you’d already invested in a male lover by the time we had our first.” It’s perfectly timed, right down to the punctuating, “Thanks,” she tosses at Bob, who deposits her drink on the table, before awkwardly backing away. 

“Nicely done. Way to keep it classy.” Robert presses his lips together and ignores Chrissie’s sharp little smile. ‘Looking forward’ to this might have been understating things – she’s clearly _relishing_ it.

“You’re the one who had a months-long affair behind my back with the local gay mechanic. Is there a way to make that _less_ sordid?” She takes the cup between both hands and delicately blows across the top. “Besides, from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t exactly look like you’re hiding it.”

_Everyone knows about you and Aaron – and no-one’s treated you any different_.

Robert rubs a hand over his eyes, and attempts to divert her onto a slightly less contentious path. “Does Lawrence know you’re here?”

…slightly.

“Seeing as he helped me draw this up with his solicitor, I’d say he’s got a pretty good idea,” Chrissie says. “We both want you gone, and if this is what it takes…” She shrugs. “I can get through an hour or two with you, if it means that Dad gets his business back – and you’re forced to release your stranglehold on something that no longer belongs to you.”

She sips her coffee and advises, “Just think of it as practice for our divorce.”

Robert tosses the papers back at her – glad to have the means to bring this controlled tirade to an end. “Right, well, sorry to burst your bubble, but unless Bob or Geordie Shore over there,” he cuts his eyes over to the side, “have a law degree, then you’ve got to know there’s no way I’m signing this.”

“Oh I think you’ll sign,” Chrissie says, before rummaging through her bag again, and holding out a cheque.

Robert glances at the amount on the bottom. He doesn’t take it. “That’s it?”

“How arrogant can you get? You really think you’re worth _more_ than that?” She narrows her eyes at him. 

“Actually – I would’ve thought _you_ were. To Lawrence, at least. You’re telling me _that_ ,” he nods at the cheque, “is all your peace of mind is worth to him?” 

He pauses a moment, to maximise the sting. “And here I thought you were the favourite.”

There’s a satisfaction to seeing Chrissie’s lips tighten, even as she forces a laugh. “That’s right, don’t pull your punches – I’d almost forgotten how vile you can be.”

“I’m not the one who came in here all guns blazing,” he defends. He runs a hand through his hair. _Jesus_. He can still remember asking her to marry him. He can remember her saying yes. It’s – weird. 

He looks at her and he knows…he _knows_ exactly how he’d felt. That stirring mixture of pride and satisfaction and attraction whenever their eyes had met… But that’s just what it is. That’s _all_ it is. A memory. 

He’s gotten used to her absence, to not – _thinking_ about her, letting her slip away like...like…

(part of his past)

… _something_.

His wife (technically. Still) is sitting straight across from him, and all he can do is remember the way he used to feel about her. It’s like being catapulted from the future, back into the past. 

Except between the whole ‘by the way, Rob, your concept of reality’s about as solid as _jelly_ ’ and Aaron being, well, _Aaron_ , and refusing to cut him so much as a crust of slack for that…he’s just barely holding things together. The last thing he needs added to the mix is Chrissie popping up like an unasked for rabbit from a hat. 

“I want you out of our lives,” she says with sudden, stark sincerity, like she just can’t hold it back, can’t disguise it with a layer of protective snideness anymore. “This seems like a pretty reasonable request to me.”

She lays the cheque in front of him, before holding out the drawn up dissolution again. 

He scrubs a palm over his tired face, and this is still the woman he’d _married_. An odd mixture of nostalgia combined with an almost dismissive resentment makes him admit, “Look, Chrissie – now’s really not a good time.”

She looks at him. Her mouth forms a little moue of sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry, Robert,” she says. “This must be so difficult for you.” 

She leans forward on her forearms. “You’ve used me, cheated on me, _humiliated_ me – and now you want to…what? Drag this out? After everything you’ve put me through? Am I supposed to be _won over_ by your utter lack of basic human decency?”

“I’m not _trying_ to win you over!” he points out.

“Yeah, _obvi_ ,” he hears (not quite) muttered from off to the side.

“Well, I’ve got news for you,” Chrissie says, ignoring the peanut gallery, and brushing away his words like dirt. “You may have hurt me – but you did _not_ break me. And no matter what you might think, I’m not some weak, pathetic victim, who’s going to meekly lie down and take whatever you dish out.”

She holds his gaze and doesn’t even blink as she enunciates, like he hasn’t grasped her underlying point, “I’m not leaving this village, until I’ve got your signature.”

His eyelids feel like they’re being pulled down by bags of sand. The café door swings open again, injecting the put-together woman and (oh joy) Sam Dingle onto the scene again. 

“–working yourself into a state,” put-together woman says, as she tugs him toward the counter. “Listen – you just sit down for a few minutes, and I’ll get you a cuppa, all right?”

“How can I?” Sam Dingle says, with a flap of his arms, like an ungainly flightless bird. “A cup’v tea’s not gonna fix this, is it?”

His gaze falls upon Robert, who jerks his own away a second too slow. He turns his head away and opens his mouth, because at the very least he could persuade Chrissie to move this discussion somewhere a little more private. Like a crowded nightclub, or the middle of Trafalgar Square.

He’s mid-reasonable sounding (to him, anyway), “Can we at least” – when a presence makes him turn his face to the side, to find that Sam Dingle has shuffled his way over to their table.

“I’m sorry to bother you, like,” he says, forehead pulled tight and eyes squinted up like worry is some kind of complicated long division.

“Then don’t,” Robert snaps. For _fuck’s_ sake.

Across from him, Chrissie tuts. “Now Robert – is that any way to talk to part of your new family?” She leans back in the chair with evident enjoyment. “After all, Sam’s not an employee you can boss around anymore – he’s one of your prospective _in-laws_. He deserves a bit of respect – isn’t that right, Sam?”

The furrows deepen on Sam’s forehead, as if Chrissie’s just tossed him an advanced differential equation to solve. “I-if you say so,” he says, doubtfully.

With a sigh, Chrissie drops the arch banter. “What was it you wanted?”

“Right, well…I was just wondering if you’d seen our Belle?”

“No,” Robert says, and turns back to Chrissie, but Sam continues, oblivious and somehow managing to give the impression of hand-wringing, even though his arms are hanging loose by his sides. “She _said_ she was gonna meet up w’some friends yesterday…so I told Lisa she were stayin’ over and babysitting Samson. Only…she’s not come home yet, and she’s not answering her phone or owt – and I can’t find her anywhere.” 

He stares at Robert like he’s expecting him to pull Belle Dingle out of his pocket. “I’ve no idea.” He spreads his hands when Sam continues to give him that fixed look. “But if you want me to guess – all right. She’s probably with those friends she mentioned.”

“Then why’s she not answering her phone?”

As if on cue, Chrissie’s own mobile rings. “Excuse me,” she says. She wrinkles her nose at Robert as she slides out of the seat. “I’m sure you can…handle this on your own.”

Sam waits for an answer, and it’s Robert’s turn to stare because… “Again, _no idea_.”

Chrissie takes a few steps away from the table and turns her back. “Checking up on me already? Dad, I told you, I’m f” –

Sam’s still standing there like the message hasn’t sunk in. Robert raises his eyebrows and hints, “So…if that’s everything…?”

“What?” Chrissie says, and he cranes his neck to look around the lump of Dingle and faded khaki coat obstructing his vision. “Since _when_?”

The put-together woman appears at Sam’s side, and takes his arm. “Sam…come on. We can try the factory – Christmas is coming up…maybe she took on an extra shift and just forgot to say.”

Sam lets himself be pulled away, though he resists long enough to ask Robert, “But if you do see her, you’ll let us know, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” Robert says, all his attention fixed on the tense set of Chrissie’s shoulders as she speaks in a tight, lowered tone into her mobile. “No, I have no – what? Don’t be ridic – I’m coming back, all right? So just – hang on, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She lets her mobile fall from her ear, and just stands for a second.

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” Prodded into somewhat jerky action by his question, she steps back toward the table, and drops her phone inside her bag. “But I _am_ going to have to cut this meeting short. Try not to be too disappointed.”

His eyebrows raise and he can’t stop himself from reminding her, “Thought you weren’t leaving without my signature? You know, the whole power-bitch revenge fantasy thing you’ve got going here?”

“Yeah – come on,” the dark-haired woman calls over. “You’re not seriously gonna head off without givin’ him a slap or anythin’?”

Robert throws an irritated glance at her, but she throws up her arms like ‘what?’, clearly offended this free entertainment isn’t living up to her knuckle-draggingly low standards. Bernice offers a strained smile and an apologetic shrug. 

“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” Chrissie says, bringing his focus back to her, voice too sharp, as she slings her bag onto her shoulder. She doesn’t look at him.

“Chrissie?” he says, and her face teeters startlingly on the edge of collapse – mouth crumpling for a split second before resolutely straightening. And like that, he’s out of his seat.

“What is it?” he asks, _actually_ asks this time, voice low.

Her mouth wobbles again, and she glances around. He doesn’t think she’s actually going to tell him, but for whatever reason – whether it’s the same nostalgia that has him shielding her from view, or he’s just happened to hit a chink in her armour – she takes a breath. Admits, “The school just called. Lachlan’s not there. He never showed up today.”

It’s well-worn instinct to downplay. _Kids go through weird phases, Chrissie. It’s nothing to worry about, Chrissie. He’ll grow out of it, Chrissie_. “So? He’s skiving. Hardly ideal, but not exactly a national emergency.” 

She blinks. “You’re right.” Manages a cursory sort of smile that slides into a grimace when she meets his eyes. “He um, stayed over at his friend Jason’s last night, they’ve probably spent the day playing games. I only hope it was worth it, because it won’t be so much fun when I catch up with him.” 

A friend. Well, that’s…new. Of course…knowing Lachlan, it’s also entirely possible that Jason is a hallucination in a rabbit costume. 

Chrissie’s hand’s still clutching the strap of her bag, and Robert studies her, eyes narrowing. “Then what are you so worried about?”

“I’m not,” she says, and makes to move past him – but he stops her with a hand on her arm. “Let me go.”

“All right.” He doesn’t budge. “ _After_ you tell me what’s really wrong.” 

She’d walked in, and come straight for him, claws delicately unsheathed. Of _course_ he’s going to try and get under her skin. And all right, that might not be the only reason he’s pressing this – but then again, it’s the only one he needs.

(They _had_ been a team once.)

“What’s _wrong_?” She tips her chin up. “My teenage son’s father figure turns out to be a worthless, cheating lowlife…and then he has the gall to stand in front of me and ask me _what’s wrong_?”

“…you think he’s done something,” Robert realises. Absently, he starts to wonder whether Jason-the-possible-hallucination has a sister. 

“Of course not!” As denials go, it just sort of – hangs there, flaccid. She presses her lips together. “It’s completely understandable that he’d be a bit – erratic, lately. What with” –

“Yeah, yeah, cheating father figure,” Robert finishes, turning his free hand in a circular ‘speed it up’ motion. They’d got on – Robert had made sure they got on – but it’s not Lachlan’d been depending on him to teach him how to ride a bike or shave or whatever. 

Another darting glance – and he has to strain to hear Chrissie as she lowers her already lowered voice, mouth barely moving around the words. “Fine. It’s just – after everything that happened with Alicia, well…”

He frowns at her. “Who?” 

For some reason, this one word doesn’t break the moment, as much as snap it in two. Chrissie stares and shakes her head. “Oh my god. You really are _utterly_ useless, aren’t you?”

“Emm – everything all right?” They both turn to find Bernice standing several feet away. She shrinks slightly under their eyes. “Just…got a bit – quiet over here.”

“Eye of the hurricane, they call that,” the dark-haired woman says. She swivels in her seat to tell Bob (embossed silver tray clutched in front of him like a shield) “If I were you, I’d be tyin’ things down.”

Bob looks like he’s wishing he could. 

“Oh no, everything’s fine,” Chrissie tells Bernice. “You know, apart from my despicable husband and his extended family ganging up on me.”

“Excuse me, I’m not ganging up on anyone! As a matter of fact, I _happen_ to be a completely neutral party in all this,” Bernice says, in a sudden, surprising show of backbone. Of course, she ruins it immediately by adding, “Just think of me as…beige. Or, or tan, even.”

“Oh for” – Chrissie shakes off Robert’s hand. “I should have known better than to come back here. You’re not worth my time. Now – if you’ll excuse me” – she pushes past Bernice, movement too hurried to entirely jibe with her words…and Robert knows. He _knows_.

He could go after her. 

He could offer to help. Yeah, she’d bitch about it, but…if she’s really that worried about Lachlan, she’d let him. And it would be – if not entirely easy, then familiar, at least – and part of Robert _wants_ that. He can feel it, winding soft and insidious against his skin. 

It’s right in front of him. An _opportunity_. The last one he’ll ever have. A window, an unlocked door…with his old life lying on the other side. The life he’d chosen for himself. Beautiful wife, big business, fast car. Temptation grips him tight in its fist. 

He watches her leave. The café door swings shut. 

He doesn’t move.

The dark haired woman looks around. “Was it just me, or was that a bit disappointin’?”

*****

Chrissie’s gone.

 _He let her go_. 

Robert breathes in, and out. And realises that now, all that’s left is a choice between facing up to a life-altering truth he’s nowhere near ready to face…

Or small talk with Bernice.

She gives him another awkward smile. “It’s the time of year, isn’t it? Everyone’s a bit stressed, coming up to Christmas.”

…

…

…

Life-altering truth it is.

*****

By the time he makes it outside, there’s no sign of Chrissie – but it’s when he sees the lack of progress made by Sam and his well-heeled accomplice that his heart jumps.

It’s not that he cares about Sam’s painstaking investigation (if he were Belle, he’d be in hiding from the rest of his family too). It’s more the fact that his current interrogatee – shifting from foot to foot and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else…

…is Aaron.

He quickens his pace.

“– gotta tell Cain, obviously,” he hears Aaron say, before he catches sight of Robert, and stiffens. 

“I can’t do that – he’ll kill me.” Robert halts a few steps away, waiting for the juddering tractor that is Sam Dingle’s thought process to move on. And _waiting_ , as Sam’s face screws up, and he asks, “What if I tell ‘im, and then Belle shows up?”

Lawrence at least had the kind of money that made putting up with him worthwhile. The only resource the Dingles have – are more Dingles. Is he _really_ doing this…whatever _this_ is?

“Knowing Cain, he’ll probably kill you anyway,” Aaron says, with his usual level of tact and comfort, though he does add, “Come on. I’ll help you break it to him.”

_And also avoid talking to Robert_ , is pretty clear from his blocked off body language, face turned away as much as possible, like he doesn’t want to give Robert even that much access. Robert immediately opens his mouth to object – because apparently, he _is_ doing this. 

Whatever this is.

But before he can say anything, the smart-looking woman inadvertently comes to his rescue, telling Aaron, “Thanks, but – how about we check the factory first, eh? Then – if she’s not there – we tell Cain. Deal?”

She looks at Sam. “I s’pose so.”

Even before they’ve moved away, Robert’s squeezing his way in. It might’ve worked for Chrissie, but missing cousin/aunt/step-niece-twice-removed or not, there’s no way Aaron’s using that as an excuse to dodge him. 

And then, he’s there. 

On his own.

Standing in front of Aaron. 

Who doesn’t say anything – just makes one of those miniscule impatient movements with face and hands. 

“All right?” Robert says, just to say something. 

“Oh yeah. Brilliant,” Aaron says, with a flick of his head like Robert’s not even worth a whole head-shake. He jams his hands in his pockets and begins to walk off. 

“Hang on!”

“What?” Aaron keeps moving. “I’ve not really got time to stop and chat right now. Belle’s” –

“Missing,” Robert finishes. Sudden teenage disappearances are the new black, apparently. He lengthens his strides to keep up. “Yeah – I heard. I’ll help you look for her, if you want.”

Aaron still doesn’t look at him. “Shouldn’t you be with your wife?”

“She left,” Robert tells him. 

Aaron takes this in, mouth pursing. “Right. Need a back-up, do you?”

“Well, if I did, I wouldn’t be coming to you, now, would I?” It’s been one of the longest days of his life – he feels a little exasperation is justified. “No offence, but you don’t exactly put me in mind of her.”

He’s not prepared for Aaron to stop and turn. “What you doing here, Robert?”

Robert swallows, because this is it. It’s in the bluntness of Aaron’s question, the confrontational stance of his body. Put up, or shut up. 

Say it, finally. ( _You love_ – )

Or don’t, and leave. ( _ **Stop it.**_ )

“I just” – he says, and Aaron raises his eyebrows. Daring him – except it’s clear from the hardness in his eyes that he expects Robert to be the one to blink first. Instead, Robert keeps talking, words so big in his chest it feels like they’re ripping his throat as he forces them out. “I was back there – with Chrissie, and” –

He looks at Aaron, thoughts whirring, trying to click into place. “We were talking…and she got upset, and – and I saw an ‘in’, all right?”

Aaron’s expression creases into disgust, and he makes to walk past him, but Robert grabs his shoulder, turning him around again. “I saw an ‘in’ – but I didn’t _take_ it! I didn’t take it,” he says, a bit quieter, “because of _you_. Because I…” 

Aaron’s staring at him, very still. He licks his lips. They’re dry. “Because I” –

And then, abruptly, at the back of Robert’s mind, something does click into place. He blinks.

“Aaron,” he says, and whatever’s in his voice, it’s got Aaron locked onto him, a line between his eyebrows. “This is probably a stupid question, but…does Belle know Lachlan?”

*****

It’s disconcerting how quick Aaron is to get on board with his train of thought. Apparently it’s not _that_ stupid a question.

“You’re telling me that _Lachlan_ is Belle’s secret boyfriend? And that they’ve – what? – run away together?”

“I’m not _telling_ you that, no. Just…floating it as a possibility.” Robert pauses. “I’m guessing from your reaction that that’s a definite ‘yes’ on the whole ‘knowing each other’ thing?”

Aaron stares. 

“All right,” Robert says, absorbing this. Every time he discovers a new connection between what he’d thought of as two separate worlds, there’s an unsettling elevator lurch of oddness. He can’t even imagine Lachlan emo-teening it around Emmerdale. 

“All _right _?” Aaron’s voice is low with disbelief. “You’re talking about a sixteen year old girl that’s gone missing – and it might be because of _your_ weird stepkid. It’s nowhere near _all right_.”__

__“Yeah, not ‘my’ weird stepkid – well, all right, he is, technically…” Robert stops. “All I’m saying is let’s not freak out about it _yet_. Because what good’s that gonna do? Besides, we don’t even know if it’s true. It’s only a theory.”_ _

__Aaron looks at him._ _

__“A compelling theory,” Robert has to amend, “But _still_. Maybe it’s like Sam said and she stayed over with friends. Or maybe Cain was right and she’s still seeing her ex-boyfriend. We don’t _know_ ,” he emphasises, as Aaron worries at the corner of his mouth with his teeth._ _

__Then, abruptly, he straightens, looking over Robert’s shoulder. “Then we need to find out.”_ _

__And before Robert can even blink, he’s striding across the street, toward a young guy pushing a pram along the opposite path. Robert hurries to catch up with him as Aaron calls out, “Oi! Kirin!”_ _

__Oh. Right._ _

__The young guy – Kirin – snaps his head up, face contorting as he makes shushing noises. There are dark circles under his eyes. “ _If he starts crying again, I might have to kill someone_ ,” he informs them. Oddly, it’s all the more menacing for being spoken in a hushed undertone. “ _Now, what is it_?”_ _

__“Belle,” Aaron says, without preamble._ _

__“Oh, not this again,” Kirin says, slightly louder. He darts a quick look into the pram, before relaxing slightly. “Look, mate, I’ve already been through it with Cain. Whatever’s going on with her, it’s nothing to do with me.”_ _

__He looks between them. “Is that all? Am I free to go?”_ _

__“She didn’t come home last night,” Robert says._ _

__“What?”_ _

__Aaron presses, “And you’re sure you haven’t seen her?”_ _

__“You think she was with me? _When_? Because between feeds and crying sessions, I had maybe a solid twenty minutes of sleep last night.”_ _

__Kirin scrubs a hand over his face, the other holding loosely onto the handle of the pram. He tells Aaron, “Not that I would anyway, but…I’ve not got the _energy_ to cheat on Ness. This morning, I forgot how to tie my own shoes. I think I’ve got puke on my shirt right now…and I don’t even _care_.” The exhausted smudges under his eyes look like thumbprints. “Is that clear enough for you?”_ _

__Aaron doesn’t say anything, but Kirin is apparently done with being questioned, turning the pram around and aiming a despairing, “ _Nonono_ ,” at the occupant inside, who launches into an irritated protest. _ _

__Robert watches him leave. Admits, “Okay…so Lachlan’s probably a more likely prospect.”_ _

__When he gets no reply, he turns back. “Aaron?”_ _

__He takes a step toward him, but Aaron immediately jerks away. “Look – I know you’re worried, but we still don’t know for sure that” –_ _

__“Tell me you don’t think it’s him Belle’s gone off with, then,” he cuts in, looking at Robert with a hard, flat expression. “You can’t, can you?”_ _

__Robert doesn’t say anything, and Aaron breaks eye-contact, looks away._ _

__“Weeks,” he says. “This has been going on for _weeks_. Who knows what sort of twisted things he’s been putting in her head.”_ _

__“Fine. Let’s say it is Lachlan, and they’re together. Obviously, it’s not the best situation but…come on. It’s not like he’s kidnapped her – she made plans to go out. And she _was_ texting him back, so obviously there’s some sort of connection there. I’m not gonna lie and tell you Lachlan’s the pinnacle of normality or anything, but I mean – what’s the worst he can do?”_ _

__Disbelief twists Aaron’s face. “Ask Alicia.”_ _

__“Yeah, I might – if I knew who that _was_.” He flings his arms up in exasperation. “Missing some of the finer details, here – remember?”_ _

__“Mum was right.”_ _

__It comes out of nowhere, like Aaron’s speaking to himself. His eyes move slowly over Robert’s face. “She said it, right from the start. Warned me.”_ _

__“She…warned you about Lachlan?” What the _fuck_ is he missing here?_ _

__“No,” Aaron says, in that same quiet voice that’s got Robert bracing himself before he even adds, “About you.”_ _

__“Me? All right, yeah, I’m sure she did, knowing Chas. But what’s that got to do with anything?”_ _

__“I should’ve listened.” Aaron shakes his head. “I should’ve listened to her. I just…I never thought Belle’d be the one payin’ for my mistake. Again.”_ _

__“What? So all this is supposed to be _my_ fault? Just because I happened to figure it out first? You know it’s called ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ for a reason, right?” Robert frowns. “And what’s that supposed to mean, ‘again’?”_ _

__Instead of explaining, Aaron backs up and tells him, “Stay away from me. From now on, just – stay away.”_ _

__Robert takes a step toward him, but he’s frozen into immobility by Aaron’s sharp, “ _Don’t_.” He keeps moving, eyes still fixed on Robert like he might just ruin his life in the split second it would take for him to turn his back._ _

__“Aaron” – he tries, but even the movement of his hands by his sides has Aaron’s arm coming up in warning. “Y’don’t…you don’t mean that.”_ _

__There’s almost the width of the street between them now._ _

__“Yeah,” Aaron says. “I do.”_ _

__And then he does turn, feet quick on the path, swallowing up distance as he heads toward the garage – finally disappearing as he heads around the corner._ _

__Leaving Robert standing on the other side of the road, alone._ _

____

*****

It takes a few seconds, but he starts moving.

Not to the garage, but away. Away from Aaron…and Vic…away from the pub…Main Street…

He finds himself back on the bridge, though this time he only spares a cursory glance over his shoulder at the huddle of gravestones standing at silent attention – and keeps walking.

Walking away from his life, this reality, which somehow manages to keep flipping on him, twisting and turning like a neverending corkscrew. He needs to move. He needs some space. He needs to _breathe_.

It takes a while, but eventually, his feet fall into a rhythm, making reassuring, anchoring noises as they strike against the path, kicking up small stones, sometimes muffled by the thin carpet of dead, damp leaves. Air steams out between his teeth, from his nose. His surroundings form a harmonious background that he sees without really looking – letting his eyes just slide over the repeating pattern of green, and brown, bare branches and fields and stone.

It’s so familiar to him, so unchanging – he could be five right now. 

Or eighteen. 

Or twenty-nine. 

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t let himself think. Just fumbles the phone out of his pocket, breath escaping in a hiss when his call goes straight to Aaron’s voicemail.

“Oh, so we’re still doing _this_ , are we?” He waits for a second, even though there’s no point to it. “Aaron – come on. I get that Belle’s missing and you’re upset…but that’s all the more reason not to go jumping the gun. Let me help. Or at least wait until this is over before you tell me to piss off forever.”

He stops. “Just – let me know if you find her.”

He hangs up. Keeps walking along what is by now, the well-worn route to Home Farm. Probably walking over his own footprints by now.

He glances down at his mobile, mouth pulling tight as he raises it again, and leaves another message. “But, just an FYI for you…if you think I’m just gonna disappear without a talk – a proper one – well, it’s not happening. Like I said, I’m not leaving.”

(Bag in his hand, feet rooted to Vic’s kitchen floor)

“I tried, y’know,” he admits, shoulders hunching up against the chilly air. “I couldn’t do it.” There’s no guarantee Aaron’s even going to listen to this –a realisation that lends a kind of black-tinged freedom to the words that edge their way up his throat. “This morning. I _wanted_ to…had my bag packed, everything. Ready to leave. To just – go. Start again, start a new life, somewhere else. But I couldn’t.”

He closes his eyes. _And, while you’re at it, stop actin’ you need me to tell you what this was. What it meant_. 

“All right?” he demands of that hard-eyed mental vision of Aaron. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That _enough_ for you?” 

From where he’s standing, it’s trembling right on the verge of _way too much_ , and he has to disconnect. Lets his mobile drop down by his side, a weight in his hand. Aaron’s going to erase this message as soon as he hears Robert’s voice. That’s probably a comfort.

He starts to move again, Home Farm rising in front of him like one of his dreams made solid, imposing stone. It’s hard to believe he’d actually lived there.

_Why do you go up to Home Farm so often?_

He stops dead. 

The building looks like it always has, all the months he’s been in Emmerdale. Big. Stately. 

Empty.

_Hang on – have you been following me?_

_Do you really think I’ve got nothing better to do than follow you around?_

“…I’m starting to wonder,” Robert says to himself. He glances around, before fixing his eyes on Home Farm again, and starting to walk toward it. He raises his phone.

This time, when Aaron’s voicemail kicks in, he says, as urgently and quickly as he can, “Aaron, _listen_ – it’s about Belle, so _don’t_ delete this, all right? I think I know where she is.”

The gravel crunches under his feet, as he moves closer. “I mean, it’s obvious. Why would they bother running off somewhere together, when they’ve got the perfect meeting place right here? And…just _think_ about it for a second – did she seem _that_ swept off her feet lately? Like, to the point of pulling a Romeo and Juliet and running away from home? Because the last time _I_ saw her, she was talking about pulling the plug on this thing. Not that I knew she was talking about Lachlan then, but…”

The enormous windows stare silently back at Robert. Up close, there’s still no sign of life, or movement. Doubt flickers in him, but he quashes it. “Look, I’m at Home Farm now – I’ll check it out, let you know how I get on.” He stops again, oddly reluctant to hang up. 

Maybe it’s because if he’s wrong, and it turns out that Belle and Lachlan are holed up somewhere in Scotland or something, Aaron’ll probably find a way to make that his fault too. 

No. That’s a lie. Aaron’ll _definitely_ find a way to make it his fault. 

Whatever it is, he finds himself gripping his mobile and saying, “And…Aaron...about before – in the café, when Bernice…anyway, I was just…I was gonna say” –

_Stay away from me. From now on, just – stay away_.

The door to Home Farm is straight ahead…with Belle possibly on the other side, while he bangs on in a recorded message. It’s stupid, and he shakes his head. Pulls himself together. “…I’ll tell you when I see you,” he says, and hangs up.

He steps forward, under the stone arch, until he’s in front of the recessed door. He squints, but he can’t see much through the glass panes. 

He reaches out. The handle is solid, quality like the rest of the house. It opens easily under his hand.

*****

Inside, everything is still, and quiet. The shift of his own clothing seems loud to him, the click of the door as he softly closes it behind him. His eyes flick over the dark wood table that occupies the entrance space, the grey chairs that flank it, the staircase.

He eases his way right, into the kitchen. Long table, spotlessly white expensive-looking seating…and one overhead cupboard door still swung open, which doesn’t exactly seem to fit with the deserted-but-perfect vibe. There’s stuff by the sink as well – his eye passes over a small clutter of containers, Coke cans, a bottle of Smirnoff, glasses, and he doesn’t even bother to catalogue the rest, already turning toward the next set of doors. 

He listens for a second, but when he doesn’t hear anything, he goes for it, and walks straight into what he guesses (going by the layout) will be the sitting room/lounge area. 

The second thing he notices is the cushy looking couch – but the success of his prediction immediately retreats to the back of his mind due to the first thing he notices.

Which is Belle Dingle sitting on the cushy looking couch. 

She’s staring at the floor, and doesn’t even look up until he says, “Belle!”

She blinks slowly at him. “…Robert? What’re y’doin’ here?”

“Nevermind what I’m doing – what about _you_? Aaron’s out looking for you, and Sam’s practically having a nervous breakdown.”

She rubs a hand across her forehead. “M’sorry.” 

“Well, at least I’ve found you, which is the main thing. Mind you, after this little stunt, Cain’ll probably find a way to have you chipped and collared till you turn eighteen.”

“M’sorry,” Belle says again. More slow blinking – and Robert’s got a bad feeling about this. He walks toward the couch, and crouches in front of her. She doesn’t move, just looks back passively. “Belle – have you been drinking?”

“Dunno. Bit,” she says.

“Where’s Lachlan?” he asks.

“Here.”

It’s not Belle who says it. He straightens, and turns back around. His heart gives a jump, breath suddenly pushing out of his chest. There standing in the kitchen doorway, is –

“Lachlan…” Of course, it’s not really _him_ that provokes Robert’s reaction. 

It’s the fact that he’s holding a shotgun.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Lachlan says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of a mixed bag. Part of me wishes I had managed to finish this dang thing before Emmerdale had Lachlan threatening Lawrence with a gun. But hey, what can you do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re even, all right? No hard feelings. As far as I’m concerned, we can call it quits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here I am. Finally. I kind of can't believe it, and part of me is reluctant to actually post this chapter. (The other part of me wants to press Post Without Preview, terrible formatting be damned). Endings 'r hard...and I really wanted this one to not-suck. So...I hope it - not-sucks for you :)
> 
> (Also, um...Hotten General is...not the most realistic of institutions. And I RAN with that. So maybe just...abandon hope of realism all ye who enter here).

“Lachlan...what…” There’s something so unexpected about it – even in Robert’s currently-approaching-Salvador- _Dali_ -levels-of-surreal experience – that he can’t take it in. 

This is Lachlan. _Lachlan_. A familiar, disaffected hurdle Robert had had to jump over more than once. They hadn’t ever really been _close_ , but pre-Chrissie kicking him out, they’d rubbed along okay most of the time. 

Or at least Robert _thought_ they had. 

“I knew you would, though,” Lachlan continues, stepping into the room like he’s _not_ holding a shotgun. It only adds to the discordant effect. “It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it? The way you kept crawling round here.” 

He turns to Belle, and in a different voice, softer, says, “I _told_ you, didn’t I?”

She makes an irritated sound, head falling back against the sofa. Robert frowns at her. “Belle?”

“Right,” Lachlan says, swinging to face him again, shotgun – _fuck_ – shotgun straightening. “Better get on with it then.”

Robert’s hands come up, the panic of having a _weapon_ locked on him kicking him into action. “Hey! Hey! Okay! I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but before we go any further, maybe you could drop the gun?” He can hear the strain in his own voice. 

Lachlan looks at him with unblinking pale eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

He relaxes slightly. 

“All you have to do is talk to Belle – and I’ll drop it.” The gun remains, aimed squarely at Robert’s chest. “Go on.”

He can feel the confusion scrunching up his face. Because – _what_? 

“I’m waiting.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“ _Yes you do_!” The sudden sharpness of his voice makes Robert jump. On the sofa, Belle half-sighs, “Lachl’n…stop it…”

Robert can see the effort it’s taking from the way he presses his lips together, but Lachlan manages a more reasonable, “You can start by telling her that you were lying about me, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Lachlan,” he says. He doesn’t move and his voice is careful, “I’ve _genuinely_ got no idea what you’re talking about.”

The gun doesn’t waver. “I warned you, didn’t I? I said it, right to your face – _you keep messing with the people I care about, and I will make you pay_. You probably don’t remember it, of course, but that’s okay. I do.”

Oh great. Another confrontation based on _Robert Sugden: The Lost Year_. “Lachlan” –

“Oh sorry – was I not supposed to say anything?” His expression is hard. “About you cheating on my mum? And the freaky reboot you paid for so no-one could call you on it? _404 – File Not Found_ , right?” He pretends to think about it for a second. “Probably shouldn’t bring any of _that_ up. You know, just to be safe.”

“Probably not,” His attention is still pulled to the gun. “Though it doesn’t make much difference now.”

“You figured it out then,” Lachlan guesses. “Or someone told you. Is that why you did it?”

“Did what?” Robert edges along shifting ground and hazards, “Look, is this about me meeting your mum?” It’s an understandable sentiment, he guesses – or it would be, if Lachlan hadn’t taken it to Norman Bates’ levels.

But – 

“No,” Lachlan says. “No, I’m not worried about Mum anymore. She knows exactly what you are now.” 

He stares down the rounded metal barrel at Robert. “ _This_ is about you manipulating Belle. Turning her against me.”

_Turning Belle_ \- ? 

“S’not because of Robert.” The way Belle says it…it doesn’t sound like it’s the first time. Her body droops forward. 

“No – no, you _think_ that,” Lachlan’s attention slides back toward the sofa. “But that’s what’s he’s _like_. He gets in your head and he starts twisting things – and you don’t even realise that he’s doing it.” Robert eyes the shotgun as it dips. “It’s all right. I’m not blaming you.”

He shifts his weight, not exactly _planning_ , but sensing an opportu –

“Don’t move.” The gun points straight at him again. “I’m serious.”

“All right,” he says. He breathes in, and out, and keeps his voice as calm as he can make it. “All right. Let’s…let’s sort this out, okay? Because I don’t know what you’ve heard, mate, but – you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here. I didn’t even realise you _knew_ Belle until today.”

“And I’m meant to believe that?” Lachlan asks. His mouth twists and jumps – he keeps trying to pull it tight. “Because everything was going just _fine_ until out of _nowhere_ Belle starts talking about how maybe you’re not so bad after all, and saying she wants to split up. Yeah, nice try, but that’s got your fingerprints all over it. _Mate_.” 

He shakes his head, a bare movement. “You figured out I was seeing her, and you tanked it. Just because Mum wouldn’t give you another chance. Just because you could.”

Steady. Steady. Robert maintains eye contact. “I know you don’t want to believe it right now, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“The _truth_? The truth is, no-one can trust _anything_ you say.” He doesn’t shift his eyes from Robert, but he’s clearly addressing Belle when he says, “You should’ve seen him after my mum found out about the affair. He came round, begging her to take him back – it was _pathetic_.”

Robert doesn’t say anything. A beat.

“And then – then, when it didn’t work, and Mum sent him packing _again_ , he shows up here. Picks up where he left off with his gay ex. Like Mum never mattered to him. Because she _didn’t_. Because that’s what he’s _like_. He just uses people…that’s _all_ he does.” Lachlan risks a glance to the side. “He doesn’t actually _care_ about anyone in your family, Belle. He doesn’t care about _you_.”

Back to Robert. The gun tips up fractionally. “Admit it.”

He looks at Lachlan. 

“ _Admit it_!”

“Or what? Are you going to shoot me? Is that really the best way to get your point across?” 

“D’you want to risk it?” Lachlan asks…and he’s always been a bit – off, a bit strange and intense…Chaotic Neutral in a beanie. But at the end of the day, he’s still _fifteen_ and in way over his head. Robert keeps his mouth closed. 

“I told’ja,” Belle says, breaking the stalemate. “I didn’t do it cos’v Robert. Now please…please lemme go home?”

His eye is drawn to the sprawl of her on the couch, the half-hearted way she rubs the heel of her hand across her forehead. She had said she’d been drinking ( _A bit_ , she’d said. _A bit_ ), but this…

“Lachlan – what’s wrong with her? Is she on something?”

He doesn’t blink, but _something_ flickers across his face.

“What was it? _Lachlan_ – what’s she taken?”

He doesn’t answer.

“How long’s she been like this?”

“It’s nothing. She’s fine.”

“Nothing? _Look_ at her – she’s bombed out of it.” He makes a move toward her, but the gun twitches in Lachlan’s hands.

He puts his palms up in surrender. And, as reasonably and as ‘we’re both on the same side here’ as he can, he says, “We need to get her checked out. Make sure she’s all right.”

“She’s fine,” Lachlan says again. And then, “It’s just sleeping pills – nothing hardcore.”

“Sleeping pills,” Robert repeats. Even more than the gun, it’s this that has him staring at Lachlan like he’s a complete unknown. “What…?”

“Mum got a prescription after you left. Before that, she used to be up all night. I could hear her sometimes.” His eyes pin Robert. “She’s all right again now. Not that that would mean anything to you, obviously.”

Robert disregards the lip-curling disgust, because –

“So you gave her sleeping pills to Belle.” There’s a glass on the floor, he dimly notes. Remembers the bottles and Coke cans around the sink. “Put them in her drink, I’m guessing.”

He lets it sink in fully, the stark difference between Belle and Lachlan – who might not meet any definition of ‘with it’ at the moment…but who very definitely isn’t _sedated_. And _oh fuck_ , but he suddenly wishes he’d chased up on this mysterious _Alicia_ thing that had been weighing on both Chrissie and Aaron’s minds. 

He looks down at the crown of Belle Dingle’s head and _has_ to ask. “Lachlan, did you… _do_ anything to her?”

“What? No. _No_ ,” Lachlan’s eyes go wide, like he’s been struck. “I wouldn’t – _no_ ,” he says again. And, with a desperation that almost sounds pleading, “No – she was gonna leave! That’s all. And I knew you’d be…you’ve already wrecked my family, I’m not gonna let you ruin _this_ too.”

He sniffs, long and shuddery, but he looks calmer after it. “So go on. Fix it.”

“Lachlan…” He raises his hands, empty, and lets them drop by his sides. “I can’t.”

“Try again.” He realigns the gun.

“What d’you want me to say?” Robert asks. “What difference would it even _make_? It’s not my decision…it’s Belle’s” –

“You put her up to it.” 

“– and even if you think she’s making the wrong one, you can’t – Lachlan, you can’t just _force_ her to be your girlfriend. That’s not how it goes.”

“M’ _not_ his girlfriend,” Belle says, turning her face into the couch. Her eyes are closed. “Just felt sorry f’r him, s’all…”

Sleepy and half-articulated as it is, it’s _this_ that finally seems to get through to Lachlan. 

He flinches, his face, his lips going white. His whole body sags, and the gun tips toward the floor, like he’s forgotten he’s holding it. 

“No – no, that’s not how it was. It’s _not_ ,” he tells Robert, as if looking for reassurance.

And – _that’s it_ , Robert thinks. You can’t make it any clearer than Belle just has. And so he takes a step, and touches her shoulder. “Belle,” he says. 

“Mmm?”

“Belle – you’ve got to get up. We’re leaving.”

She cracks her eyes open, though she just frowns at the hand Robert has extended, until he actually grabs her arm and pulls her upright. He keeps hold of her elbow. 

“What are you doing?” Lachlan asks, gaze darting between the two of them. 

“I’m taking her home.” He states it as a fact. _This is going to happen_. 

But Lachlan shakes his head. Keeps shaking it as inexorably, the gun rises. “No,” he says again. “You’re not going anywhere.” His finger curls around the trigger. “I mean it.”

Robert looks at him. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I won’t leave, all right?”

He waits until Lachlan’s body eases fractionally, and then he turns to Belle, and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Belle,” he says. “Are you listening to me? Belle?”

“What?” Another dragging blink.

“You’re gonna go home now, okay?”

“What? She can’t” –

“ _Yes_ , she can,” Robert says, immediately cutting across his objection. “She wants to go home, Lachlan. Her family’s out looking for her – they’re worried sick.”

It’s almost easy – a throwback to endless meetings where he’d represented Lawrence’s interests. The biggest trick to getting what you want, is in sounding like you’re the person in control.

(…the one calling the shots…).

“Besides…this is all my fault, remember? I’m the one you were waiting for. It’s me you need to stick around – not her.”

He bends his knees, and tightens his grip on Belle’s shoulders until she’s looking him right in the eye. “Belle – you’re going to walk out of this room. Go through the kitchen, across the entranceway, and out the front door. And then – just keep walking, okay? Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Course.”

“Good. Off you go,” he says, and gives her a little push. Lachlan makes as if to start after her, but Robert blocks him.

He doesn’t turn around, just listens to the shuffle of her retreat – and stands in front of the gun. Lachlan stares at him, looking almost betrayed. “You really think I’d hurt her?”

Robert resists the urge to point out that, lack of blood and bruises notwithstanding, the last twenty four hours don’t exactly contradict that idea. He settles for, “Let’s just say I’d feel a whole lot more confident if you put down the gun.” 

“Oh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lachlan says, face hardening. “Not gonna happen.”

He thinks he can hear the faint click of the door closing and it shores him up. Because while it might be hastily assembled and only a few minutes old, so far, everything’s going according to plan. 

Step one – get Belle out. Okay. He’s done that. He can do this. 

So…step two. 

“That mean you’re doing to do it? Shoot me?” His voice comes out calm, just pointing out the fact that this is real life, not a level on _Call of Duty_ or _Fallout_ – that it’s not Schrodinger’s gun Lachlan’s holding. But instead of getting through to Lachlan, it only seems to goad him further. 

“Maybe. I mean, I’d be doing everyone a favour, wouldn’t I?” 

“…All right,” Robert says. He nods, like he’s just thinking this through, playing this scenario out to its logical conclusion. “And what happens then?”

“Nothing. Well, not to you, anyway. Not at this range.”

“And what about you?” Since Robert stepped in front of the gun, Lachlan’s eyes have been trained on him – and outwardly, there’s no change in that. But Robert can sense it – some small, vital shift in that attention. Like he’s actually starting to get through. “You’re the one left all alone in a house with a gun and a dead body. Doesn’t seem like the healthiest of situations to be in.”

“Yeah,” Lachlan agrees. “But then I walk out the door.”

“Because it’s that simple, and there’s no chance the police will ever crack an airtight plot like this.” Lachlan might be unhinged, but he’s not _thick_. 

“I’ll think of something.” His finger’s still hugging the trigger. “And even I don’t – well, it might be worth it _just_ to get rid of you. Forever.”

Robert takes a breath. “Okay,” he says. “Say you’re right. Say you do this – actually pull the trigger. Get rid of me – permanently. And somehow, you manage to get away with it. No police, no prison… Just tell me one thing. Could _you_ live with yourself? Go through the rest of your life, _knowing_ what you’d done?”

He appears to consider it. “I wouldn’t have to, though, would I? I mean, I’m pretty sure Grandad would spring for trauma erasure, if I needed it. Worked for you, didn’t it?”

Robert just looks at him. 

“No,” someone says. 

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” Lachlan says, strangely unbothered, because…

Oh.

That was _him_. 

Robert realises that he’s shaking his head, as he says again, “No. That’s not how it works at all. I _thought_ it was – I mean…I assume I did. And yeah, it’s all gone – all the stuff I wanted to forget…”

He swallows, and keeps talking, even though he only figures out what he’s saying at the very second he’s saying it, “…but that doesn’t mean it never happened.”

“Weird distinction, but okay. And I should care because…?”

“Because _you’ll_ know. Not _what_ , but part of you will know that _something_ is missing.” His mouth is dry, but the words keep coming. “And you know what’s really funny? You’ll go looking for it, in the end, without even realising that that’s what you’re doing.”

_Home_ …the dropped thread he’d followed all the way back to Emmerdale. Though the vision that rises clear in his mind - isn’t the village. 

Lachlan still looks wary, still holding the gun – but he’s listening, and Robert’s voice rises, trying to find _it_ , the magic word, the key phrase that’s going to bring this thing to a halt. 

“Why d’you think I’m _here_? I wiped my mind clean of this place, of everything I’d done – I could’ve gone anywhere. But instead, I’m right back where I started. In the same village, with the same people, the same” –

“- boyfriend,” Lachlan finishes, a dying gasp of sarcasm. 

Robert persists. “You said it yourself – this place, Home Farm, it should mean nothing to me. Until yesterday, I had no idea we’d ever lived here. I don’t _remember_ it. But I kept coming back, all the same.”

He stops, before continuing, stronger, “So…you can do this. You can pull that trigger and walk out of here…you can go wherever it is you need to go to get it all taken out of your head…but just give it a couple of months, and I can guarantee that you’ll end up right back here – with a gun in your hands. Only it won’t be me you’re pointing it at, this time.” 

There’s the faintest line between Lachlan’s eyebrows. The gun’s no longer ramrod straight.

“But it doesn’t have to _be_ like that,” Robert tells him. “Because you can stop this, right now.”

In the silence, he can hear Lachlan swallow. 

“Can I though? Really?”

And _there_ it is. He’s not convinced, not yet. But he _wants to be_. 

Robert lowers his voice. “Of _course_ you can. Lachlan – I won’t lie to you, not this time. Yeah, _this_ ,” he keeps the situation – gun, girl, sedatives – purposely vague, “is bad. But it’s not as bad as it _could_ be. No-one’s dead. No-one’s seriously injured. It’s not too late to get some help. _You can come back from this_.”

Lachlan doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move, though Robert can feel the tension in his body. Just – one more little push. 

“Your mum’s worried about you,” he says. “She knows you’re not at school. Bet she’s been calling. Just – think about _her_ for a second. Think about Lawrence. What would they want you to do? Because I can tell you. They’d want you to put down the gun.”

Lachlan doesn’t put down the gun. 

But he stares at Robert, chest rising and falling with his breath – and Robert takes the chance.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out, until his hand curls around the barrel. Lachlan doesn’t move, doesn’t resist as _slowly, carefully_ , he presses down, lowering it.

Except he jerks – they both do, as there’s a sound from behind…a door – no –

_Louder_.

It happens quicker than it seems, maybe. Robert stares at Lachlan’s shocked expression, then down. There’s red on his shirt.

Except that doesn’t make sense. Because if Lachlan’d shot him, he’d be –

His legs give out, and he falls back against the couch, before sliding off it. _Fuck_. It hurts. Lachlan’s standing…and someone’s shouting…but he can’t hear what it is over the rushing sound of his own breathing in his ears.

It hurts. His heart is echoing in his chest and all he can do is look up…up…up. 

The ceiling is cream-coloured…no blue, _really_ blue overhead…and the metal of the carpet is warm under his legs. 

It still hurts. His eyes want to shut. But his fingers are tingling and empty – and that’s… _no, that’s not right_ …

Someone crouches down by his side, and someone else leans over him, face red, mouth shaping words that Robert just follows with his eyes.

_Aaron_. 

Aaron’s here.

Well. That’s all right then. 

He lets his eyes close.

*****

The first time he wakes – the first time he remembers waking – it’s more like swimming up toward consciousness. He becomes aware of his breath, even as part of him wants to get lost again in the heavy flow of it, in and out. His ten pound eyelids reluctantly unglue, the effort so exhausting that he just blinks in incomprehension at the featureless grey panels above him.

“Rob?” he hears Vic say from off to the side. “Diane – _Diane_ , he’s” –

And he’s pulled under again.

*****

He resurfaces – later.

Minutes, or hours, or days even, maybe. 

There’s someone holding his hand. When he turns his head to the side, a titanic endeavour, Vic gives him a wet-eyed smile, and squeezes his palm. “Hey.”

“Hi.” It sounds like his voice has gone on strike. 

“We’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” Diane appears behind Vic. She’s got a matching smile that tries to pull down at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers drop onto his arm. “It’s so good to see you, Robert.”

His body feels exhausted, liquid with weakness – and behind that, pain. He swallows, and even that feels tiring. He’s got a tube going into his nose. “What happened?”

Vic and Diane look at each other. “Don’t you remember?” Vic asks. “You, um, you were in surgery. You lost a lot of blood…there was this tear in your” – she cuts herself off. “Don’t worry about it. The doctors’ll explain it later.”

He frowns and trawls back. “Lachlan…”

“That’s right,” Diane says, with a squeeze of his arm. “See? It’s all coming back to you.”

“He had a gun…did he” –

Vic makes a sound, free hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“Vic?”

Her shoulders shake, and Diane rubs her back. “It’s all right, love. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, hand coming down from her face. But it’s to Robert that she speaks. “The last thing I said to you was to get out of my life – and then you go and get yourself _shot_.” Her fingers wrap tight around his. 

“Not on purpose,” he says. Lifting and lowering his eyelids feels like a workout. Maybe he should just keep them closed.

Palm still soothing Vic’s shoulder, Diane says, “It’s been a stressful few days.” It jerks him back to the present. 

“How long’ve I been out?”

“Not that long. Today’s Wednesday,” she says.

“You were so lucky, you know,” Vic says, still sounding shaky. “If it wasn’t for Cain and Aaron” –

“Aaron?” Suddenly Robert sees his face behind his half-closed eyes – leaning over him on the Home Farm carpet, red-eyed and panicked. 

“They were out looking for Belle – Aaron said he got some message from you…they found her near Home Farm, and they got enough out of her to know you needed help. They’d just made it there when Lachlan” – Vic presses her lips together and shakes her head, eyes filling up again.

“She’s all right then? Belle?” The words are melting into each other, but he pushes them out. 

“A bit shaken up by what happened,” he hears Diane say, “But she’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

“The police have been speaking to her…they’ll want to talk to you too.”

His eyes fall all the way shut. “…yeah…later…”

*****

It’s dark…well, dark-ish. Night, definitely.

 _Wednesday_ night, Robert just has time to hope before something – some slight movement off to the side, catches his eye.

_Fuck_. There’s someone standing over in the far corner of his room. 

He squints at the dark-clad back, and tries to raise himself up in the bed, though the pain bolting through his side forces him to subside with a hiss.

This catches the attention of his visitor, who turns and steps closer. 

“You’re awake. Good,” Chas Dingle says.

Robert stares. “What are you doing here?”

“Paying you a visit, of course. Isn’t that what usually happens when someone’s laid up?”

He keeps on staring.

“And after Adam finally got Vic to go home…it seemed like the perfect time to pop in. See how you were doing.”

“And the nurses just let you?” He can’t check his phone…he doesn’t actually know where his phone _is_ – but it _feels_ late. And beyond all that – this is _Chas Dingle_. Not one of the names he’d put on his shortlist of concerned well-wishers.

Not one he’d be putting on his long list either. 

She sucks in air through her teeth and allows, “I might not have asked them. Didn’t think I needed to.”

“You didn’t…and _why_ would you think that?”

“Well, I’m practically your mother-in-law, aren’t I?” 

She stops to take in the look on his face, before saying, “Good. Now hold that thought and _listen_ , because I want to talk to you about something.”

“Have I got a choice?” He winces as he tries to raise himself against the pillows again. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact. You do. Which is why I’m here.”

“Chas – I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m recovering after having been shot,” Robert says. “If you could get to the point…?”

She comes up, right to the foot of the hospital bed. “What if I told you you could get it all back?”

He can feel the skin around his eyes drawing tight in confusion. “What?”

“Your marriage, the money…everything you’ve lost.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Lachlan’s in custody,” Chas says baldly, and waits. 

Robert blinks. “Seeing as he’s developed this nasty habit of waving guns in people’s faces, I’m gonna say – _good_.”

“I bet Chrissie doesn’t agree, though.”

“Yeah, but Chrissie’s not the one lying here, is she?”

Chas cocks her head to the side. “And I heard the police haven’t interviewed you yet.”

“No. Weirdly, between not-dying and being unconscious, I haven’t exactly managed to fit them into my schedule.”

“Well, there you go,” she says. “There’s your answer. When they come around, you tell them it was an accident. Problem solved.”

_This_ …is the stroke of genius Chas needs to discuss at – whatever o’ clock at night? _This_? “Chas – he _shot_ me. Accident or not, I think the police are going to be concerned about an unstable teenager with access to firearms.”

“But he’s not an unstable teenager, is he? He’s your stepkid,” she says. “And all right, you should’ve given him a safety-lesson before you let him handle that shotgun…but, well – you weren’t thinking, were you? Maybe you didn’t even realise the gun was loaded. An estate like Home Farm, people using guns…gamekeepers…poachers…mistakes happen sometimes. You were just having a normal father-stepson bonding experience that went wrong. That’s all. It’s no-one’s fault. And it’s definitely not attempted murder.”

He looks at her. “That’s not what happened.”

“It could be, though. If you wanted. I mean, obviously it’s gonna take something massive to get Chrissie back on side…but if anything can do it, it’ll be this. You give her son a get out of jail free card, and then _you_ get another go at playing Happy Families.”

She pauses. “So…what d’you say?”

Her expression is hard to decipher in the greyish, minimum light environment of the hospital room. For some reason his heart is kicking up in his chest, as she waits for him to answer her. Like this is a serious offer instead of the result of a half-baked brainstorming session. He licks his lips. “That’s probably not the story Lachlan’s given the police.”

“Even if that little turd wanted to come clean, d’you really think Chrissie and Lawrence would let him say _anything_ incriminating? Oh no – he’ll have a lawyer, duct-taping his mouth shut until they know exactly what you’re going to hit them with.” She glances around his room. “Actually, I can’t believe Chrissie’s not here right now, giving you the hard sell. Thought I’d have to wait in line.”

The _crack_ of the shotgun splitting the air, ringing in his ears…it’s the sound, more than anything that he remembers. More than the actual pain of the bullet. Just the sound, and a dazed awareness that his body was shutting down but being unable to intervene, to stop it. 

And Aaron’s face, filling his vision. 

“Yeah, well, maybe she realised it’d be a waste of time.” His side still aches, just from trying to sit up straighter. 

“Is it though? _Really_?” Chas presses. 

The sound…blood, and his legs going from under him, and Aaron…but if he thinks back hard enough, he can find it. Split-second, but pinsharp…the look in Lachlan’s eyes, wide and locked on his. 

It _had_ been an accident.

Of course…he’d still ended up getting _shot_.

But apart from all that – Robert just. Doesn’t _want_ a choice right now. So he dismantles it as forcibly as he can, without even stopping to consider it. “ _Yes_. Because Belle _has_ talked to the police, and there’s no way she’s backing up this ‘just an accident’ spin. And falsely imprisoning teenage girls doesn’t really jibe with the father-stepson bonding idea you’ve cooked up.”

Chas doesn’t seem cowed. “Well…that’s the thing, isn’t it? Belle’s not exactly the most reliable witness, is she? Not when you look back at her history. And maybe she doesn’t need _you_ lot bringing that up in court, tearing her down, making her relive everything she’s been through. I mean, look at what happened with Alicia. She took on the mighty Whites, and what did it get her? She had to leave the village – her marriage, her _home_ , just to find some peace. Maybe Belle’d be better off changing her story, for an easy life.”

Okay – with every mention of ‘Alicia’, the worse and more confusing it seems to get…probably he’s happier _not_ asking for the specifics. 

“Well?” Chas prompts. “You on board? Because it seems simple enough to me. I talk to Belle, and you use that conniving reptile brain of yours to get Lachlan off the hook. Then you clear off – and you make sure that you, and your family, stay well away from mine. For good, this time.”

She stops. “Any questions?”

He doesn’t _want_ a choice. He doesn’t want _this_ choice, but Chas just keeps handing it back to him, like it’s a wallet he’s dropped. Maybe that’s why he finds his attention caught – not by the offer itself, or what it means…but by something more tangential.

“And what does Belle want?”

Chas is motionless. He still can’t read her face. “Right answer,” she says.

Then she tips her head back, and exhales at the ceiling – stiffening up when she makes eye contact again.

“All right. Okay. Let’s get one thing straight… _this_ ” – she makes a strange, almost violent gesture toward him, or maybe the hospital bed, “is _not_ a second chance, all right? You got that? It is a _first chance_ – and it is the _only_ one you are ever going to get from me.”

“O…kay,” Robert says slowly, because she’s staring at him with so much force he can actually _feel_ it, burning into his skin…and that means he’s supposed to say something, right?

“I still don’t like you,” she informs him.

Or…maybe not. 

“I will never like you. And if you do anything – _anything_ – to hurt my boy again…and I am talking so much as a stubbed _toe_ here, I will come after you, and I will make all _this_ ,” definitely indicating the hospital bed this time, “feel like a spa weekend in comparison.”

She places her hands against the bottom of his mattress, on either side of his feet, and leans in. “Now – do we understand each other?”

*****

“– really very lucky, Mr Sugden,” the doctor says the next morning, as she finishes her rundown of his condition. Which, obviously he’s glad he’s not toting around a colostomy bag right now, but the fact that Lachlan’s poor aim cancelled out his trigger-happy reflexes doesn’t automatically turn everything into sunshine and daisies, does it?

He’s opening his mouth to point this out when a policeman in a reflective jacket pokes his head around the door, before pushing it fully open to admit his partner, a shorter woman in a sober black coat.

“Mr Sugden – is this a good time? Only we’ve got some questions.”

The doctor begins backing out of the room, while the dark-coated woman comes forward, eyes scanning him with interest. “I am sorry, Mr Sugden – we appreciate that you’re probably not feeling at your best right now, but as I said, we do have a few questions that only you can answer.”

“Well, let’s get it over with, then,” Robert says. As the DS pulls her chair closer to the bed and introduces herself, it flashes across his mind again – the sound of the gun…Lachlan’s face…

…Aaron’s…

He tells them the truth.

*****

It happens maybe a half an hour after the police have left. By then, Vic’s appeared. She’s located his phone and a charger, and when she goes to get herself something to drink, Robert watches his battery fill itself for a moment before he goes in to messages and texts – _Awake now_.

A short while later, settled into the chair to the left of the bed and coffee finished, Vic’s already fussing, “Hang on, no – let me get it, you don’t want to strain yourself.”

“I was reaching for some water, not climbing Mount Everest,” he tells her, even though his side and stomach are already protesting the attempted move.

She holds the glass out to him with a knowing look. “Just take it slow.”

And then someone’s pushing the door open and –

Robert bats the glass away, motioning Vic off so he can _see_ if…

– it’s Chrissie stepping inside. 

“What are you doing here?” Vic asks. She immediately puts down the glass of water, and gets to her feet. Her arms cross over her chest.

“I um, came to see how you were doing,” Chrissie says, addressing Robert. She advances a tentative step. “Can we talk?”

His sister glances at him, eyebrows raised, and Robert motions her to go. And after a second’s deliberation, she actually does. Though as she passes Chrissie, she does make a point of saying, “I’ll be right outside.”

The door shushes closed behind her, and they’re left alone. Chrissie takes a few more of those wary, skirting paces toward the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. Like I’ve been shot?”

She presses her lips together. 

“Well, that’s the formalities observed,” he says, as his fingers smooth the blanket. He waits, eventually prompting, “Aren’t you gonna ask? About the police? I mean, that is what you’re here for, isn’t it? You want to know what I’ve said.”

“Actually, I’m not sure I do, to be honest.” Her mouth turns up at the corners – a smile with all the amusement wrung out of it. She’s wearing a cream coloured top, a brown jacket that she pulls tight around herself when she says, “Since Monday, everything’s felt like a nightmare. And part of me has been - waiting to wake up. Except I haven’t. I haven’t woken up, _you_ have…and now… Now it’s not a nightmare any more, is it? It’s real.”

She shrugs a little. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

“You’re here,” Robert points out. He scrutinises her. On the surface, she’s as polished as always, but he can hear the cracks in her voice. He wonders if he’s meant to – whether this is a play for sympathy. 

“I may not be ready, but that’s not going to stop you, is it? I should know. I need to know.”

If it _is_ a play, it’s beautifully executed. She’s holding her head up with a sort of steely vulnerability that might not be entirely real…but that reminds him of something that is. That _was_.

That used to be. 

It’s what makes him say, “I told them that Lachlan didn’t mean to shoot me. That it was an accident.”

Chrissie closes her eyes – and he doesn’t know if it’s cruelty or kindness that makes him pause for a second before adding, “…and I also told them that even if he didn’t mean to _use_ the gun, he didn’t seem to have a problem threatening me with it. Or giving Belle some of your tranquillisers to make sure she stayed put.”

She looks at him for a long moment. “That’s what you said to the police?” 

She’s taken the hit – he can see it in the set of her shoulders – but she’s still standing. And yeah, it had been about the money. Of course it had. But part of it had been about _this_ , too.

Not enough, when it came down to it. But still. 

“I told the _truth_ ,” he emphasises.

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. I’m not sure _what_ , but. Something.” Her eyes meet his, then slide away.

Then meet his again. 

Slowly, she says, “It’s all been so chaotic since Monday. What with the police and – Lachlan being taken away…Dad and I, we’ve been pretty much in the dark. But I did see Belle. Even managed to speak to her for a minute. In between all the shouting.”

She stops for a second. “She said that you were trying to – talk Lucky down. To get everyone out of there safely. I should probably thank you for that.”

“Okay,” he says. Though – if he thinks about it…that’s not an _actual_ thank you. 

“I still can’t deal with having you around,” she says suddenly. “Part of the business, I mean. Not even now. _Especially_ not now. Maybe that makes me selfish or petty, I don’t know, but – it’s the truth. I don’t have the energy to pretend otherwise.”

Robert takes this in. 

The business. 

_His_ business. The thing he’d fallen for first. Looking at Lawrence White, self-assured and self-made, and feeling a fist of determination in his chest, because if he could _have_ that, _be_ that…he’d have finally made it. 

For real. 

He swallows. 

Tells her, “Well, I’m not just gonna roll over for nothing.” 

She straightens. Cautiously asks, “So if Dad called you with an offer to buy you out…?”

“A good offer.”

“A _very_ good offer,” she corrects. “You’d take it?”

He looks at her. “Get him to call me and you’ll find out.”

She looks back, even and acknowledging, before turning to leave – and stopping. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, before glancing at him over her shoulder. Her hand is touching the door. “It’s just that…I don’t know what happens next.” 

Court case.

Young Offenders’ Institutions. 

Weekly visitation. 

The kind of life-changing stuff that no-one, not even Chrissie or her father could be prepared for, really. But it’s not Robert’s job to reassure her, not anymore. 

So he just says, simply, “You will.”

It takes a moment, but she nods. Then, shoulders back, she pulls the door open.

*****

His fingers grope on the bedsheets and he manages to get as far as typing _Where_ – before Vic comes bursting in to demand, “Well? What did she want, then?”

– _are you_?

*****

_Because I’m in hospital_ , he sends soon after, when Vic’s been joined by Diane and they’re having a low-voiced conversation about Chrissie and what-it-might-mean over by the door. On the TV, the newscaster rolls out a sober report on climate change. Robert can already feel the slow grip of unconsciousness, swallowing him up, inch by steady inch, like a python.

“– brazen, I just can’t believe” – he hears Diane murmur.

“– you? Well I can, after the scene they made on” –

“ _-according to French Foreign Minister Laurent Fabius. He was speaking in the past hour as he revealed the new draft of_ ” –

He blinks hard and sets his jaw to stifle a yawn. Vic catches his eye and manages a smile, before wandering over to tell him, “You know, if you’re tired, you should just sleep. Best thing for you right now.”

“I’m fine,” Robert says. Vic’s fingers are gentle where they touch his hair. 

“Ey, your sister’s right, you know. All this’ll still be here when you wake up. Along with one of us, most likely.”

“ _Definitely_ ,” Vic says.

Andy’s name doesn’t seem to be part of the mix, going by his absence from the conversation. (Going by his absence in general, really). Robert doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to. Instead, he chokes down another yawn, glancing back at his phone and texting –

_But don’t feel like you have to rush over or anything_.

*****

He succumbs to sleep eventually, because, really, what else does he have to do? Plus, he _is_ on industrial strength painkillers.

When he wakes, the afternoon’s just bleeding into evening. True to what Diane said, the hospital room is unchanged – _and_ he’s not alone. 

Andy’s sitting in the chair next to the bed. 

He looks around. No…it’s just Andy. 

Robert frowns at him. Because, well – he’s _here_ instead of off somewhere else, standing on principle and hating Robert’s guts. It shouldn’t be unexpected, but it is. 

“Where’s Vic?” he asks eventually.

“I made her go home,” Andy says. “Told her that if she keeps treating you like this, you’ll only get used to it. And if that happens there’ll be no living with you.”

The funny thing is – it’s said so mildly that it’s comforting. It feels normal (well, as normal as it _can_ ) for him to jab back with, “Nice. Because it’s not as if I’ve been shot or anything.”

Andy just looks at him. 

“You’re alright though,” he says. 

It falls somewhere between a statement and a question. 

Robert looks back. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I will be.” He has to clear his throat. “After you help me find my phone.”

A minute’s search reveals where Vic’s tidied/hid it (not like there are that many options, really), and Andy hands it over. Robert presses the home button and watches the screen light up. 

“Everything okay?” Andy asks.

No messages. No missed calls. “Fine,” Robert says. He lets his monile drop down onto the bed, even though his fingers keep absently searching it out. Not looking, but turning it face down into the sheets, then up, then down again, as he and Andy lumber into a silence that’s finally broken when Andy offers -

“They’re probably all still upset.”

“What?” Robert’s eyes flick over. 

“After everything that’s happened. With Belle. Hard to blame them, considering all she’s been through.”

“Yeah,” he’s forced to agree, because he’s hardly going to get into a trauma measuring contest against a teenage girl. Until the pads of his fingers slide across the back of his phone, and he finds himself muttering, “Wouldn’t think a text’d be asking too much, though.”

Andy’s eyebrows jump, then draw together – though Robert doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. He’s in a hospital bed, sore and doped up, and still wearing the NHS’s finest. It’s a bit late to start standing on dignity with Andy _now_. 

It’s not like he’s ever managed it before. 

In the end, Andy just gives him a grimace Robert thinks is meant to pass for awkward sympathy, and Robert looks away. Subject closed. Or so he thinks until he hears, “I could always – drop in. Ask Aaron to” –

“What? Pay me a pity visit?” Robert finishes. He makes a face. “Because that’s not at all weird and desperate.”

“Right.” 

“Thanks though,” he belatedly adds a minute later.

Andy fidgets a bit in his chair. “This mean you’re planning on giving things a proper go, then?”

He cuts his eyes across. It’s not that he expects Andy to be anything but generally okay with the idea – given that, well, he’d _been_ generally okay with it in that brief period between discovery and the _Hiroshima_ level fallout that had followed Vic’s truth bomb. It’s just – still hard to get the words out, to _say_ it…harder still now Aaron’s suddenly gone completely off the record. 

“Ask me again after I manage to get us both in the same room,” Robert settles for saying. 

“Sounds like a yes,” Andy notes. “Coming from you.”

“Yeah well, I tried to leave, and I ended up getting shot. If that’s not the universe sending me a sign, I don’t know what is.” 

At Andy’s look, he relents. “And - I’d already decided. _Before_ all the stuff with Lachlan. So, yeah. It’s a yes.” 

He glances down at the sheets. The blank screen of his phone continues to broadcast _No comment_. “From me, anyway.”

“Maybe you just need to give him a bit of space. Some time to get his head round things.”

Given Robert’s current surroundings, “Not as if I’ve got much choice right now.”

“Well, there’s no rush, is there? It’s not like you’re going anywhere.”

He slants a sidelong look at Andy. “This mean you’re not kicking me out as soon as I’m back on my feet?”

“It’s Vic’s house. Not really up to me.” A shrug. 

“That sounds like a no,” Robert tells him. “Coming from you.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Quieter, Andy adds, “And – well, it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

It’s too cautious to be the sweeping promise of a fresh start, but then, considering that Robert’s still tripping over the baggage from his last attempt at a redo, maybe that’s for the best.

So – “No,” he says. “It wasn’t.”

It’s something, anyway.

*****

Ironically enough, it’s not that he doesn’t remember.

Lingering haze of anaesthesia dissipated, and the finer details had started to emerge. By now, some of them have assumed a diamondlike clarity.

_Stay away from me. From now on, just – stay away_.

So, it’s not that he doesn’t remember…but it’s easy enough to write off Aaron’s words as heat-of-the-moment stuff. Getting harder, though, the longer he goes without hearing anything. 

And he _gets_ it – tense situation, emotions running high, and maybe…maybe he hadn’t exactly handled the whole second-time-around reveal in the best way. Add to the mix Belle’s sudden vanishing act, and the shadowy question mark of Lachlan – well, no wonder Aaron’d lashed out. 

But it’s fine. It has to be, because Robert hadn’t fucked off and left, had he? He’d stayed, and found Belle. He’d figured it out. 

And he’d _fixed_ it. 

So…whatever Aaron had said back then…

_Stay away from me. From now on, just – stay away_.

…isn’t important, not really, not when everything’s properly factored in. 

He types out, _We need to talk. Please_ – and hits send without even stopping to think about it or second-guess. 

And then, alone in the hospital room, he goes into his photos – tapping on _Albums_ , and then _Recently Deleted_. Looks down at the spread of images and video. 

Then presses _Select_.

_Recover All_.

*****

It’s twenty minutes before visiting hours end, and Vic’s pulling on her coat, even as she says, “– could ask the nurses if you want me to stay.”

“Go home,” Robert tells her. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m in hospital, not Ibiza.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’m fine,” Robert says again, deliberately closing his eyes to drive the point home.

His sister sighs, but he can hear her zipping up her coat when the door swooshes open. If he thinks anything, it’s that it’s one of the nurses again – but almost immediately, the silence tips him off.

He opens his eyes. Belle Dingle’s standing over by the door.

And next to her – is Aaron.

There’s a moment of frozen pause before Vic says, “…Hi!” like she’s been jumpstarted.

“Hi.” With an uncertain glance back, Belle takes two steps forward. Her hair’s falling out of a loose ponytail, and under her unzipped parka, she’s wearing an oversized grey top over leggings. “We didn’t know if it was all right – you know, to visit.”

“No, no, course it is!” Vic says. Aaron doesn’t move, and Robert tries in vain to catch his eyes. Which means it’s not until Vic adds, leadingly, “Isn’t it, Rob?” that he realises he should say –

“Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.” Aaron looks well, as far as he can tell – even though his head’s down and his hands are pushed into his pockets. 

Belle trails her way closer to the bed. “We wanted to see how you were.” She tucks a hank of hair behind her ear. “And to say – thanks.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “And – I’m okay too. Well…I will be.” 

She manages a flicker of a smile. 

“And what about you? Are _you_ all right?” Vic asks. 

“Me? I’m – yeah, I’m fine.” 

Belle’s pale under the hospital lights, and the bulky clothes don’t disguise how delicate she looks as much as they accentuate it. 

“The police called again today,” Robert says, carefully. “I’m assuming you’ve heard by now that Lachlan’s been charged.”

“Yeah. I know. They told me. It’s um – it’s great.” She pushes the corners of her mouth up into a smile – though it immediately collapses. _Okay_ …though Robert supposes there’s no uncomplicated way to react to the situation…and it’d probably be just as weird if she was jumping up and down at the news.

Belle clears her throat and asks him, “So…when are they letting you out of here?”

Behind her, he gets a flash of Aaron’s face, before he looks down again. His right leg is jigging against the linoleum, a tiny, ceaseless movement that goes all the way up to his thigh. “Uh…I don’t know,” he says, dragging his attention back to Belle. “Soon, hopefully.”

“Good.” Her fingers pull at the hem of her grey tunic, and she lapses into silence. There’s a blinding moment where he feels eyes on him – and he looks back, chasing the connection…before Aaron’s gaze flinches off to the side. 

“And in the meantime, he’s got me dancing attendance…fluffing pillows, peelin’ grapes…I’ve hardly had a chance to catch my breath all day.” Vic’s affect shifts into artlessness. “I was just about to go for a coffee, actually…”

“With your coat on,” Aaron apparently can’t stop himself from noting. His voice rasps against the back of Robert’s neck, shuddering the hairs there to attention. 

“It gets chilly in the corridor,” she immediately counters. She’s got a scarf knotted around her neck too. She smiles at Belle, and gestures with her head toward the door. “D’you want to come? I could do with a bit of company…and I’m sure Aaron wouldn’t mind standing guard for a few minutes…”

His eyes shoot to Belle, who hesitates, glancing over her shoulder before nodding slowly. “Yeah. All right.”

“Great!” Vic says. She pats Robert’s shoulder, the panto version of subtle. “Then we’ll just – leave you two…to it.” 

Aaron has to move to let her and Belle out – and then they’re finally alone. Albeit with Aaron stranded in a sort of no-man’s land midway between door and bed. 

“I’m not catching, you know,” Robert says, breaking the awkwardness. “You _can_ get a bit closer.”

After the barest pause, Aaron does, covering the floor in silent steps until he’s standing beside the bed. Robert’s eyes slide over him before stopping on his face.

“You got my text then.” 

Aaron looks down at the sheets. “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t” –

“It’s all right. You’re here now…that’s what matters.” It almost hurts to smile. “I’m really glad you came.”

He gets a stiff half-nod in response. Okay, not – the most demonstrative choice, but it only jars him for a second, because Robert’s been _waiting_. 

But now, Aaron’s _here_. Here, and informing the hospital sheets, “You wanted to see me.”

His chest starts to shake because he can’t hold this back any longer. “Yeah. Listen,” he says, “Aaron…I wanted to say” –

“Can I go first?” Aaron’s head comes up, and he barrels through the middle of Robert’s sentence so suddenly that Robert’s mouth’s still half open around the next word. “Because there’s some stuff I need to say to you too.”

All he can do is blink, thrown off his stride. “I – yeah. All right. Go for it.”

For all his insistence on stepping on the moment, it takes Aaron a second to marshal what he wants to say. “I just. I wanted to thank you. For keeping Belle safe.”

“It’s all right,” Robert says.

“No, it’s not. I mean it. If you hadn’t been there – who knows what would’ve happened?”

“It wasn’t exactly a ‘best case scenario’ after I did show up.” 

“You got her out. That’s everything.” Aaron says. There’s a fierceness in his voice that makes Robert swallow. “It’s _enough_.”

“What?” He frowns.

Aaron looks straight at him, so dead on, it’s unyielding. “Look…all the stuff that’s happened between us – whatever you said or did before…just – forget it. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. This…what you did for Belle…it makes up for all that.”

His hands clench, and then unclench at his sides. “We’re even, all right? No hard feelings. As far as I’m concerned, we can call it quits.”

Robert looks at him – the determined line of his mouth, the curl of his fingers against his thighs. There’s a moment – a lightning flash of contrast…the way he’d felt standing in Home Farm, the sweaty-palmed search for the right words. But this time, there’s no gun. 

This time, he knows exactly what he wants to say. 

And so he reaches out, and catches Aaron’s hand. Well, his index and middle fingers, anyway.

“I love you,” he says.

*****

The reaction is immediate – Aaron makes a noise in the back of his throat, and tries to wrench his hand away.

Robert tightens his grip, and repeats, “ _I love you_.”

He waits. Aaron shakes his head, eyes darting away like he’s been burned. “Don’t.”

“What? Aaron” – he shifts in the bed without thinking and has to stop for a second, air pushing out between his clamped teeth, free hand coming up to his side.

“Are you okay?”

_I’ve just had surgery – what do you think_? Robert doesn’t say, mostly because _pain_. He concentrates on inhaling, exhaling. “Just – g’me a minute.”

“I’ll get a nurse,” Aaron’s already half-turned – the only thing stopping him from getting any further is the now death-grip Robert’s got on his fingers.

“ _No_ – it’s _fine_.” He’s starting to breathe deeper again. “But if you want to help, you could tell me what’s wrong.”

Aaron frowns at him. “What? Nothing.”

Robert stares, but apparently, that’s it. “Really? _Nothing_? Because I just told you” – Aaron’s hand jerks so suddenly under Robert’s that he’s startled into letting go.

“– how I feel,” he changes, just to save some face. Not much, since Aaron actually bows his head, eyes closed like he’s just got life-changing news…the terminal kind. Robert looks away. “Yeah…not really the reaction I was hoping for.”

(For _fuck’s_ sake. Is the gay version of _everything_ supposed to be a thousand times more difficult? Or is this purely an Aaron thing?)

“Robert” –

“I thought you’d be pleased.” There’s a harried note to his voice, and all he can feel is a bewildered sort of letdown. This – wasn’t how it was supposed to _go_. “You asked me what it meant, what _this_ is…and now I’ve told you.”

He barely catches the mumbled, “Cause it’s really that simple.”

“Well, tell me what the problem is, then!” At Aaron’s set face and shifting eyes, “Because obviously there’s _something_ – and I’m not really in the mood for charades. So – start talking.”

He crosses his arms – but as so often happens when forced into a corner, Aaron pushes right back. “D’you really want to get into this right _now_?”

“Why not? Since who knows when you’re gonna rock up here again.” Okay, maybe he’s not _entirely_ over the whole ‘not visiting’ thing.

He can see from Aaron’s face that he’s scored a hit, but – “Your sister’s gonna be back any minute” –

“So? She’ll be leaving.”

“Yeah, and so will we. Robert” –

“Stay.” He tries to catch Aaron’s hand again, but only succeeds in grabbing his sleeve. 

“Visiting hours are almost over.” 

He holds on as Aaron tugs his arm away, fingers white against the dark fleece. “Who cares? I’ll talk to the nurses. _Stay_.”

“I’ve got to drive Belle home.”

“Let Vic do it.”

“I can’t – no, _really_ ,” he insists in the face of Robert’s disbelief. “You don’t know what she’s been like since all this happened…just getting her here was” –

“– _sold out everywhere, so Andy had to order them online!_ ” Vic says outside, several decibels louder than normal. Aaron’s head turns, but Robert ignores the door as it starts to swing open, insisting, “Alright – tomorrow then. _Aaron_ …we _need_ to talk.”

He holds Aaron’s eyes until –

“Okay, tomorrow,” he agrees, low-voiced, as Vic re-enters the room, followed by Belle. His sister grips a disposable coffee cup, and she says, voice light, “Everything okay in here?”

“Fine,” Robert says, with a glance at Aaron…who is already turning, his back to Robert. 

“Yeah – we should probably go though, Belle,” he says. 

“Really?” Vic says. “Already? I could always ask the nurses if” –

“Yeah, I don’t mind if we stay a bit longer,” Belle offers, though Robert notices her hands immediately creep upwards to cup her arms.

Aaron shakes his head, stepping past and touching her shoulder. “Come on – Lisa’ll be watching the door for you.”

As he puts his palm on the brushed metal handle, Robert calls him. “Aaron?”

He pauses, and Robert waits long enough to underline the moment before saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow,” Aaron agrees, unsmiling, and pulls the door open.

For her part, after they’ve gone, Vic says, “Okay, so not saying anything right now because, well, that didn’t work out so brilliantly last time, did it?”

She drops the empty coffee cup in the bin, and continues, “Don’t get me wrong – still here for you, still totally Team Robert… _but_ from now on –” she points both fingers at her own head in demonstration, “– _quietly_ supportive.” 

Robert eyes her. “And how long d’you think that’s gonna last?”

“Well…depends on how badly you mess it all up, really, doesn’t it?” She wrinkles her nose, before quickly plastering on a smile and giving him a tiny thumbs up.

*****

They’re _going_ to talk about this. It smoulders, burning holes through every layer of thought he has that night, and right through the next day.

They’re _going_ to talk about this. And they’re going to _sort it_. Robert hadn’t managed to escape a fifteen year old armed with a gun and a budding god complex…only for _Aaron_ to turn around and shoot him down instead. 

They’re going to _sort it_. 

Accordingly, when Aaron slouches into his hospital room, radiating a back-to-school lack of enthusiasm, Robert greets him and says, “Andy was just leaving.”

Andy (who had only just arrived), blinks, but gamely gets to his feet. “Uh yeah, I was actually. I’m expecting a delivery…and I promised Moira I’d double check a fodder budget…so I should...”

With a glance between the two of them, he grabs his coat off the back of the chair and pushes past.

Leaving Robert and Aaron alone in a silence that feels a lot like deja-vu. 

“Well?” Robert demands finally.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” Aaron says with a shrug. Still, he crosses the floor and slumps into the chair Andy’d vacated, which seems like a good sign.

“Okay,” Robert says. “Then why don’t we take it from last night?” He pauses. “You know, the part where you completely freaked out?”

Aaron looks at him. “I didn’t _freak out_.”

“Speaking as someone who was there,” Robert tells him, “– yeah. You did.”

“Why? Just because I wasn’t falling all over whatever you said? You’re probably doped up to your eyeballs.”

“It’s called pain relief.” In spite of the instinctive sniping, relief eddies through him, because – Aaron hadn’t thought he was serious? _That’s all_? “It’s not like I’m swearing undying love to anyone else who comes in here.” 

He softens his voice. “I knew what I was saying. Can even say it again if you like.”

Aaron looks down at his knees. _Not_ all, apparently. 

_Hang on_ …

“You don’t believe me,” Robert says. It rings through him, a sudden slap of realisation.

Aaron’s eyes flick up. “Well, can you blame me?”

“Considering that _you_ were the one pushing me to commit...” This conversation is starting to make him feel like he’s running his hands through his hair, even when he’s not. “Aaron…I’ve _decided_. I love you, and I want to be with you.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Since when? Because Monday, you didn’t know _what_ you wanted.”

“Things change.”

“That fast?”

Robert huffs out a breath. “I don’t get why you’re so hung up on the timing of it, but – _yeah_. Nothing like having a gun waved in your face to make you re-evaluate your priorities.”

Aaron’s mouth pulls tight for a second, and he studies the wall behind Robert’s head. “So how long’s this change of heart gonna last, then? Until the bullet wears off?”

“What? _No_. Because how I feel about you…that has nothing to do with getting shot. I mean, yeah, maybe it speeded things along a bit, but – I was halfway there already. You remember, right? You _have_ to – I phoned you...and you definitely got my messages.” 

He takes in the lines of Aaron’s eyebrows, the perpendicular frown between them. Very quietly, he says, “I know what I want, okay? I want you. I want – this.” 

He pushes down the urge to swallow. Here he is. Finally. “So…what do you say?”

Aaron closes his eyes for a moment. Then – shakes his head. 

No. _No_. 

“ _What_? Why not?” he demands.

They’re _going_ to talk about this. They’re going to _sort it_.

“Because you _got shot_ , Robert!” It bounces off the walls, too loud. It makes him jerk in surprise – and Aaron’s chest rises and falls as he gets himself back under control. Quieter, he says, “You could’ve _died_.”

The raw edge in his voice goes right through Robert. “Aaron” –

“Makes things clear, you said. And yeah. It does. Because every time we do this, someone ends up getting hurt.” Aaron wipes his sleeve across his nose, his cheek. “So I’m not doing it anymore.”

Robert stares. “Okay…then it’s _our_ fault Belle got held hostage? And when Lachlan aimed a gun at me, I was asking for it, was I? Don’t say that to Chrissie – she’ll have you up as a witness for the defence in no time.”

An eye-rolling appeal to the grey panels overhead and a deep lungful of air. “Aaron, you’re not thinking straight right now” –

“Easy for you to say, when you don’t know the half of it.”

“Then _tell_ me!” he snaps, because enough is enough. “Okay? Just tell me whatever happened the first time that was so terrible – and I’ll let you know if it changes anything!”

Aaron doesn’t say a word.

“Well? Come on! If it’s as bad you’re making out, you should have me on side in no time.” He crosses his arms.

“I can’t,” Aaron says finally, very low, but just as Robert’s opening his mouth to declare victory, he adds, “Not because it wasn’t bad enough. It was. Believe me. But I’m not making you go through it all again, just to prove it. Not now.” 

In spite of the fact that they’re arguing, the determination on his face is mixed with something that softens it. “When I said there was stuff you were better off not knowing, I meant it. I barely got through it myself.”

_Egotist, narcissist, occasional psychopath_ …Robert keeps breathing. 

Aaron looks down again. “Tells you everything, dun’t it? Vic started all this because she wanted to be honest with you. Except – I can’t be. So, it’s not like this’d work out anyway.”

In and out… _oh, can’t forget closet-case_ …in and out.

“But you did,” he hears himself say.

“What?”

“You got through it,” he points out, getting stronger as he goes. “And as bad as it all was, when I showed up…you let me in again. It’s not – perfect. I _know_ that. I messed up. But I came back – and you…you _let me_. And that tells _me_ something.”

“Yeah, because you really came back here for me.” Dismissive.

“Well, I’m gonna make an educated guess and say it wasn’t the scenery. Or the nightlife. Which leaves” –

“Vic. Andy,” Aaron cuts in, like he doesn’t want Robert to finish. “Diane.”

“And you.”

“Stop.”

“I love” –

“ _Stop it_ ,” his fingers dig into the arms of the chair as he shoves himself to his feet.

“Whoa – hang on!” Panic and pain spike through Robert as he twists uselessly against the pillows. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

“I’m done talking about this,” Aaron says. Throws it down, rather, whole body broadcasting readiness to retreat. 

“Okay,” Robert says suddenly – because this is getting them nowhere. “Okay. Just – just _wait_ , okay?”

“What’s the point?” Another one of those ground-pawing moves that makes Robert start and then grimace. 

“The _point_ is I’m gonna burst my stitches if I try chasing after you, so maybe you could sit back down for a minute?” 

He doesn’t, but he stills at least – seems slightly less committed to leaving. For now anyway.

Okay. Okay. New approach. Different angle. Robert’s eyes wander over Aaron’s face – his familiar, closed off expression. _I love you_ , he thinks. Then takes a breath and says, “I promise, I won’t say another word about this…about _us_ …if you don’t want me to. All right?”

Aaron gives him a wary nod.

“ _But_ ,” he continues, careful. Pushing it – not over the line, but as far as he can. “If I do that – then can you do something for me?”

Aaron radiates equal parts confusion and suspicion. It makes his chest itch with warmth. “Depends what it is.”

“Don’t write this off,” Robert tells him. Amends, “At least – not right now. Not _yet_.”

Aaron looks at him, teeth pulling on the corner of his mouth. “All this – everything that’s happened – it just goes to show that we’re better off staying well away from each other.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m not gonna change my mind, Robert.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not _asking_ you to change your mind. Just to – keep it to yourself for a bit. That’s all,” he says. 

Yeah, if there’s one thing Aaron knows how to do, it’s dig his heels in. He hadn’t wanted to give Robert the time of day when he’d first showed up in Emmerdale. (When he’d come back to Emmerdale). Hadn’t wanted to get involved in fixing up the car. Hadn’t wanted to give in (again) to the attraction between them. 

But Robert had convinced him. 

Or maybe…maybe Aaron’d _let_ himself be convinced. 

And so, he leans forward a little. Keeps his eye-contact steady, but not too full-on. Palms open on the sheets. “Look, there’s no denying it’s been a weird couple of days. It’s no wonder you’re not being objective at the moment…and maybe I’m not either,” he adds quickly. “All the more reason to take some time, give the dust a chance to settle before we do anything drastic. What d’you think?”

Aaron frowns at him, blunt-tipped finger landing immediately on the pulse of Robert’s argument. “And just how much time are we talking about here?”

“Why don’t we give it till I’m out of hospital, at least?” Robert watches him, careful. “I mean, it’d be a bit awkward otherwise, wouldn’t it? You banging on about how it’s never gonna work out between us every time you come visit.”

*****

Given the way his attempted declaration of love had ended up in a hasty tactical retreat, the last thing he needs is Diane perching by the foot of his bed and dropping tidbits about the aftermath of the shooting that wend their way into a very Aaron-sympathetic semi-lecture –

“– devastated, the poor lad. I mean, we all were, obviously, but – seeing him, just sitting there, the _look_ on his face…well. If I’d ever had any doubts about his feelings, that would’ve convinced me.” Her fingers are laced together in her lap, and she studies him with bright eyes. 

Robert stares at her. “Is this how it’s going to work now? Vic swears off sticking her beak in, so she gets you to meddle instead?” 

Still, he privately admits that it’s a little gratifying to have a secondhand window into Aaron’s feelings, since face to face, Aaron’s been all lights off and shuttered blinds. 

_You could’ve **died**_. 

Well, mostly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diane says, serene. “I’m just making conversation, me. But – if I’ve happened to hit on anything especially relevant, just remember, I _am_ an old woman.” She unmeshes her fingers, spreading her hands slightly. “Wisdom comes with the territory. Sometimes it just flows out of me.”

“It’s not the only thing,” he mutters. 

“Er, excuse me?” she says, ruffling a bit. “Or should that be – excuse _you_?”

“Diane,” he lets his head fall back. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you can take your wisdom and” – a look that could cut through his stitches “– aim it somewhere else this time. Because I am not the problem, right now.”

“Oh.” Diane pauses. Gives his knee a pat. “Must make for a change.”

*****

Given his less than enthusiastic response –

(“And why would I still be visiting you?”

“Oh thanks. Nice to know that risking my life to help one of your relatives isn’t even worth a few check-ins and a bunch of grapes. Not exactly ‘family first’, is it?”)

– it comes as a bit of a surprise the next evening. Not that Aaron shows up…Robert’d been counting on that (and what it means). It’s more the bunch of flowers held in a loose grip by his side. 

Robert looks at the incongruous picture for a long moment, before raising his eyebrows. “You shouldn’t have.”

Aaron makes a face. “I didn’t. They’re from Lisa.” He drops the flowers on Robert’s bedside table.

He regards them, a sturdy looking bundle of white daisies studded with the occasional tightly curled yellow rosebud. “I’m not complaining. At least it’s not dead rabbits.”

“Nah. Gonna take Zak a couple of days to fill up the bag.” Aaron assesses him for a moment, hands sneaking into his pockets. He tips his chin up. “So, how’s this supposed to work then?” 

“What?”

A flat look. “I drop by, clock you looking all pathetic, and that’s meant to start me thinking, is it? Wondering whether I’ve made a big mistake or something.”

“You know, most people start off with ‘How’re you feeling today? Sleep all right?’” Robert says. He’s in _hospital_. Pathetic’s sort of baked into the premise. “And I’ve already told you, it’s not about trying to change your mind.”

“Yeah. That is what you _said_ ,” Aaron acknowledges, wrinkling his nose. “Shame I know you better than that, isn’t it?”

“And yet you still showed up. Watch it – keep on like this, I’ll start thinking you care.” _Too late_. It’s taking everything he has to keep from smiling. 

A glare. “You said we weren’t gonna talk about that. You promised.”

“No, I _promised_ I wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t want me to,” Robert corrects. “I’m not the one who brought it up.” His eyes follow the quick flash of Aaron’s throat as he swallows, the contrast of skin against the dark grey of his long-sleeved t-shirt. 

“You’re not gonna change _my_ mind either, you know,” he tells him.

*****

One of the nurses puts the flowers in water, and the next morning, Vic fingers a small green leaf, mouth pursed, before repeating like a mantra, “Not asking. Just – quietly supportive.”

*****

Thankfully, and contrary to the charges of indifference he’d laid at Aaron’s door, the Dingles seem to have a constant stream of gratitude for Robert.

Gratitude. _And_ tat. 

“It’s sticky toffee pudding,” Aaron says. “Marlon sent it.”

As his hands lower, Robert watches the lump inside the clear container begin a slow slide through the gluey lake of sauce surrounding it. 

“I told him I didn’t know if you’d be allowed – you know, after the surgery and all that.” Aaron half-shrugs. “But he said at least this way you’d die happy.”

“Great.” Yeah, Robert’s in no hurry to test that theory, and he quickly changes the subject. “Did Belle go to the hearing this morning?” 

He’s had his latest update from Hotten’s…adequate-est, and it had formed the indignant core of today’s conversation with Vic and Diane. 

Aaron shakes his head. “Said she didn’t want to.”

“Might have been for the best. I mean, ‘not guilty’ to attempted murder…well, that’s par for the course, but the rest?” Okay, he’d admitted to Chrissie that the actual shooting had been an accident – but she _can’t_ be under any illusions about what had happened with Belle. “I don’t know what they’re thinking. Administering with intent, false imprisonment…it’s textbook stuff. Lachlan hasn’t a hope of wriggling out of those charges.”

“He did before.”

“You mean Alicia?” Robert says – and at Aaron’s look, “Yeah, Vic filled me in.” 

“She went through hell – and all he got was a slap on the wrist.”

It’s odd, he has no memory of this person – this woman that Lachlan had _sexually assaulted_ …but when Vic’d been laying out the facts earlier, he’d kept getting flashes of Belle’s face on the Home Farm sofa, the slump of her body. 

“Well, he’s not getting away with that this time,” he says, firm. “And remember – that’ll count against him…there’s no way they’re gonna be lenient considering his history. Belle just needs to hang in there, because it’ll all come out at the trial.” 

Aaron nods at him. Smiles a bit. “Thanks.” 

He sits, and for a long minute, the only sound in the room is his fingers drumming against the sides of the plastic box, like fidgety rain. 

“If it’s stressing you out, we could…always talk about something else,” Robert prompts eventually. “Something a bit – less intense.”

The tapping stops. “So – you’re just gonna hang around, waiting for me to give things another go. _That’s_ the big plan?” 

Robert blinks. “Okay, let’s just skip ‘what’s the weather like?’ and ‘how’ve things been at the scrapyard?’ and jump right into it.”

“Cold. Busy,” Aaron says. He raises his shoulders, like ‘ _well_?’

Robert holds his eyes for as long as he can, but Aaron’s immovable. “Seemed to work all right the last time.”

Aaron’s mouth tightens, then smooths as he pretends to consider this. “Or you could always just go and get yourself mindzapped again.”

Okay. Deserved, probably. “Thought I’d cut out the middleman for a change,” he says, as calmly as he can. “Save some time, and stay where I am. Since I’d probably only end up back here, anyway.”

With a shake of his head, Aaron looks off to the side.

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered about it.”

“You setting up as my friendly neighbourhood stalker – yeah, no clue why that’d set off the alarm bells.”

“Well, if you’re so sure that nothing’s ever gonna happen between us again…why would it?” Aaron has to feel Robert looking at him, but he refuses to meet his eyes. “Unless…you’re _not_ that sure after all?”

It’s funny, almost – the lights-out quickness with which Aaron can retreat into himself. Robert’s not said anything that out of order…stayed well within the clearly defined limits of their sort-of bargain – and yet some tiny nick has caused Aaron to huddle in on himself. He even seems smaller, without having moved at all.

“Hey…you left yourself wide open for that one, you know,” Robert says, ‘sorry’ running soft underneath his words. He watches Aaron’s thumb dig into the edge of Marlon’s plastic box. “But all right, I’ll go easy on you…just this once. You know why.”

He doesn’t say it – not out loud. But he doesn’t need to. It’s _there_ , he’s not taking it back. And Aaron knows. And Aaron had _still_ come. 

He clears his throat. “So…scrapyard’s busy, you say?”

Aaron finally looks back at him, a line between his eyebrows that, as Robert waits for his answer, slowly erases.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice is a little rough, and a shadow of that frown still lingers. “Got a load of stuff we need to shift. It’s all piling up.”

For the rest of the time, they stick to yard organisation and storage, skirting any larger issues. A stalemate – or a draw, Robert supposes. 

Aaron ends up staying long enough to get through the sticky toffee pudding, anyway.

*****

The next evening, he arrives as one of the nurses plies Robert with painkillers.

“Don’t mind me, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute,” she says, with a brisk gesture for Aaron to come into the room. 

He waits in silence, and holds the door for her as she carries Robert’s tray out. She throws him a smile in thanks. As interactions go, it’s pretty straightforward – but Aaron looks after her with preoccupied eyebrows, until Robert feels he has to say, “Something wrong?”

Aaron turns back to him. “You do know she probably thinks I’m your boyfriend, right?”

“Two days ago, you showed up here with a big bunch of flowers for me. I’m pretty sure she’s not the only one.”

“They were from Lisa.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realise I was supposed to run through your entire family tree just so some random hospital workers don’t get the wrong idea about us.” Facetiously, he promises, “Don’t worry – next time she’s checking my blood pressure, I’ll launch straight in.”

A frown. “So, I’m supposed to believe that you’re magically okay with that stuff now. People assuming we’re together. No second thoughts…no wondering what anyone might think…” Aaron’s got the most sceptical, ‘waiting for the punchline’ face ever. “When you ‘decide’ something, you don’t hang about, do ya?”

“Well, maybe that’s because I didn’t just ‘ _decide_ ,’” he fires back. Aaron doesn’t seem moved, and he tones it down a bit. “Fair enough, finding out the truth, and then the stuff with Lachlan…yeah, that had an effect. I’m not denying it. But, the way I feel about you…” he pauses. “Let’s just say all this has been a long time coming.”

A long time coming…and at the same time, hitting with all the force of a natural disaster. In its wake, all that’s left to do is cling to the life-raft of the one known thing in a sea of uncertainty.

_I love you_. 

So, in spite of the fact that by now Aaron’s stonewalling, staring down at the floor, he persists. “Listen, I get that it seems a bit sus to you – I do. But…think back. In all the time that this has been going on, you’re telling me you’ve never seen any hint, not _one_ sign that I might’ve been starting to – accept this? _Us_?”

Robert can come up with a handful without even trying – and he’d been neck deep in denial at the time. In retrospect – _Jesus_. But he can’t read the minute movements of Aaron’s body as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“I’m not saying it’s not still an…adjustment,” he admits, because, yeah…he’d had that split-second flicker of ‘ _It’s not what you think_ ’ when interchangeable Nurse 1 had been adjusting the flowers in the vase, fluffing up the daisies and making small talk like ‘ _They’re lovely, aren’t they? Nice to be appreciated, eh_?’ 

Habit, mostly…but he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t rushed to set the record straight. 

So, “I’m working on it,” he says. “And come on – when even your mum’s given me the okay, then maybe you need to consider that this time, _you’re_ the one who’s over-reacting.”

_That_ gets Aaron, all right. His head comes up, face scrunching as he asks, “You what?”

“Oh, did Chas not mention it? She showed up here a few nights ago. Basically threatened to neuter me if I so much as breathed wrong at you from now on. Bit unorthodox, but for her, that pretty much counts as a blessing, right?”

“Probably.” In spite of the succinctly laconic response, he can see Aaron thinking. “Explains why she hasn’t kicked off about me visiting.”

“Speaking of – are you gonna sit down or what? Or maybe you’d like to pop out to the nurses’ station first. You know, clear up any assumptions, since you’ve got such a problem with those.”

It’s a ludicrous image, and it’s not like he expects anything else (well, maybe Aaron stropping off home, if worst comes to worst). Still, something inside him relaxes when Aaron finally drops down into the chair, somehow managing to sound defiant, even in concession. 

“Be a bit weird, wouldn’t it?”

*****

As a farmer, there’s never a good time for a holiday (one of the many reasons it’s never appealed to Robert as an occupation) – and for the last couple of days, Andy’s been going flat out at Butler’s.

“You do know that it’s not _your_ farm,” Robert feels compelled to say, during one of Andy’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it visits. 

“I don’t want to leave Moira in the lurch,” his brother says. “And seeing as I’m off in a few more days, I’m getting what I can done now.”

“Christmas in France.” Vic sighs. “Bet it’ll be amazing.”

Andy smiles. “Yeah.”

Still, he sticks around long enough to hear the news and congratulate Robert, even if he has to leave soon after.

And as soon as he enters the room, Aaron gets it from Vic, who grins and claps her hands, sing-songing, “Sooo…congratulations are in order!”

He looks behind him. “For pushin’ a door open? Don’t take much to impress you, does it?” 

“No, not _that_. Because as of tomorrow, _you_ won’t be driving round the Hotten General car park looking for a space anymore. Guess who’s coming home?”

Aaron’s eyes arrow toward Robert. He’s got a thick paperback under his arm. “You?”

“Well, it’s not the bloke in the room next door,” Robert tells him. 

He doesn’t seem to register the sarcasm. “Bit soon, innit?”

“I know…but don’t worry, I was there when it happened. The doctors have definitely cleared him,” Vic says, and taps Robert on the shoulder. “So at least you can look forward to pulling crackers with _us_ on Christmas Day.” 

“I’m counting down already,” he says.

She rolls her eyes at him, before turning back to Aaron. “And _you_ only have to pop over the road anytime you wanna visit him. Which should make you happy.”

She lays a slight, questioning emphasis on the word ‘should’. Granted, Aaron’s not the chirpiest of blokes, but his reaction to the news is subdued, even for him. 

Vic presses her lips together, very pointedly Not Saying Anything. Robert can almost see the quietly supportive façade wearing at the edges, but to her credit, she just hoists her purse onto her shoulder and offers, “You know, I should probably go home…pour a stiff drink and break the news to Adam.”

She smiles at Robert, then widens her eyes and jerks her head back at Aaron, evidently trying to communicate something without…actually communicating. Apparently ‘not saying anything’ has its limits, and Vic’s doing her best to work around them. At the door, she pauses to give him another incomprehensible face, before finally exiting, leaving them in…Robert _wants_ to say peace, but Aaron’s staring down at his feet, and for some reason this feels more like the calm before the storm.

“Well?” he says. “You should be happy.”

Aaron’s eyes flick up.

“You were holding off on pulling the plug on this until I got out of hospital,” he reminds him. “And now…here we are.” 

It’s good, isn’t it? That Aaron’s so visibly thrown? He ignores the thump in his chest and raises his eyebrows. “So? What’s the verdict?”

“What?” Aaron frowns at him. “Oh – give it a _rest_ , would ya?”

He flings himself into the chair by Robert’s bed, before holding out the paperback with bad grace.

_The fuck_? 

All Robert can do is blink. After preparing himself (sort of) for a _yes_ , a _no_ , or even a _maybe_ , Aaron’s unexpected ‘none of the above’ reaction feels like he’s been knocked off balance, even as he takes the blue-covered offering and manages a limp, “What’s this?”

At the look he receives, he rallies enough to add, “Yeah, I _know_ it’s a _book_.”

It has a gold, double-armed cross on the cover, and _Citadel_ written under that.

“Belle sent it. Thought you might be bored or whatever.”

He looks at the back. “Right. Thanks.” He glances over, and makes an educated stab at the bad mood Aaron’s been in since he first stepped inside the room. “How is she?”

He shrugs.

“She’s a smart kid,” Robert reassures him. “She won’t let this stuff with Lachlan get her down for long.”

“Not everyone’s like you,” Aaron says, without even looking up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only took you a week to get over being shot.”

“Er…it’s gonna take a bit more than a week, actually. Believe me, I won’t be signing up for a 5k anytime soon.” He studies Aaron. “What is this – you don’t think I’m _upset_ enough over what Lachlan did? You _want_ me to be deeply traumatised?”

Aaron’s knee bounces, the sole of his foot beating a jittery pattern against the floor. “Course not.”

“Then what _is_ it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

“Yeah, I’m convinced,” he mutters. Aaron’s staring off to the side, acting like he can’t feel the weight of Robert’s gaze. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, though. “Well, if you actually decide to talk about it, you know where I am.”

To make his point, he picks up the book again. 1940s war-torn France. It’s a step up from the antiseptic environment of Hotten General, at least. 

A prologue, codex, and (finally) chapter later, and he lowers it. Risks a look over. Aaron still seems preoccupied, a hand at his mouth and teeth pulling at the skin around his thumbnail…but the tension in his body has loosened, and Robert’s eyes fall to the splay of his legs in the chair. 

Okay, so some of the scenery in Hotten General is worth looking at.

Aaron catches him, and Robert smiles. Aaron glances away again. _Fine_.

Despite the size of the book, the chapters are all bite-sized things, no longer than three or four pages, and that keeps Robert reading, even if it is a bit half-hearted. It’s later when he looks up again, and finds that Aaron is asleep, arms crossed. 

He watches him, the steady movement of his chest, the softness of his mouth – Robert looks his fill, for once. Looks – and wants. 

Not hiding anymore. Not fighting it. 

And…it doesn’t matter that ‘what happens next’ is still up in the air, that Robert doesn’t have a job, or a clear plan for the future…it doesn’t even matter that Aaron hasn’t given him an answer yet. 

It’s _easy_. 

Right now, at this moment…it’s _more_ than that. Because he’s standing ankle deep in the rubble of everything he thought he knew, everything he thought he wanted…except it turns out that everything’s _not_ gone, everything’s not destroyed after all. 

It’s all still right _here_. 

Aaron only wakes at the whoosh of the door as the nurse leaves.

“She’s just gone to get you a blanket,” Robert says. And, lightly, “I hate to tell you, but if they didn’t think you were my boyfriend before, they definitely do now.”

Aaron snorts a bit, but he doesn’t look too upset, even if he does say, when the nurse comes back, “It’s alright – I’m leaving in a minute.”

He doesn’t make any move to go, though – and the nurse ends up leaving the blanket and disappearing. 

“Probably right,” Robert says to break the lingering silence. “Not exactly luxury accommodation here.” 

Aaron’s still sitting, but leaning forward now. He remains quiet, and Robert finds his eyes moving over the compact incline of his back, the way his elbows are tensed on strong thighs. In the darkening, hushed room, he can’t hold back from saying –

“I’d offer to share,” a pause that perfectly accommodates a deliberate once over. “But I don’t think we’d both fit.”

_Misjudgement_ , he thinks, as Aaron’s head snaps up. But when he speaks, it’s fierce, but – completely unexpected. “What if something goes wrong?”

“What?”

“After the surgery. Complications…I don’t know.”

Robert blinks. Frowns. “Well…I suppose there’s a risk of infection for a while, and I’ll have to take it easy, obviously…but, other than that, I’m good to go.”

He watches as Aaron looks away, with a small, intense shake of his head. “Aaron?”

“A couple of days ago, you were lying on the ground, with blood everywhere.” It comes out like an accusation, his face and voice hard.

_You could’ve **died**_.

Oh.

_Oh_. 

“I know.” Robert makes himself soft, careful, in response. “But I’m okay now.”

“It was coming through your clothes…on my hands…I could feel it” – Aaron stops, his jaw working.

“Yeah. You’re right. But you saved me, remember? You saved my life.”

He shakes his head again. “That was Cain. He called the ambulance. I just – tried to stop the bleeding. You had your eyes open, and I asked you to look at me, just – keep looking at me.” He has to force it out. “But then you closed your eyes…and I thought…I thought” –

The tremor in his words reverberates in Robert’s chest, and he has to swallow the waver in his own voice. “Hey…hey…I know. I _know_. But I’m all right. I’m _all right_ now, okay?”

Aaron gives a violent nod, without meeting Robert’s gaze.

“Look at me – _Aaron_ , look at me,” he says, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak until Aaron does. Then, slow and definite, eyes fixed on Aaron’s, he says, “I _swear_ to you, I’m not going anywhere. _Okay_?”

Aaron breathes out, unsteady, before nodding again. “Yeah,” he says.

Robert blinks away the soft haze filming over his vision. Tries to inject some humour into his voice as he asks, “This mean you’re still gonna come and see me when I’m back home?”

A hasty scrub of his palm across his eyes before –

“…yeah. All right,” Aaron says.

It shouldn’t feel so much like a victory. It’s just a possibility – a _yes_ , technically, but it feels tentative enough to be a _maybe_. There’s nothing certain about it, nothing definitive. 

“Yeah?” he has to ask, a smile dazing his face. “Really?”

By now, Robert should be pushing it, trying to pin him down. That’s what he’d done with Chrissie…with Katie…with anyone else who’s ever mattered. He’s always looked for shortcuts, too impatient to get to the end point. To _have_. 

Aaron shrugs and inclines his head, already trying to downplay it. “Yeah. If you still want.”

But here…in the Hotten General hospital room, he takes what Aaron’s prepared to give him. Just that. Maybe…that’s the difference. 

Because _this _, with Aaron…he wants it enough to trust in how _much_ he wants it. To know that it’s not going to _matter_ how long it takes – weeks, or months, or years – because even when he gets there, when he _has_ what he wants, has _Aaron_ …__

__…he’s still going to want him._ _

__So – he can wait, if he has to. As long as it takes. All Robert really needs is this chance._ _

__“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”_ _

____

*****

Except, after that…Aaron doesn’t leave.

It gets later, and darker.

They talk about nothing until eventually the words get heavier, and stretch out slower, and then come to a stop.

And he still doesn’t leave.

Robert should say something, tell him to go, once their quiet talk finally spins out into silence. His own eyelids begin to drag, relentlessly closing…only for him to jerk back to wakefulness seconds later. There’s no point in Aaron staying, really, and the chair’s not that comfortable. 

But he can’t. After every split second of sleep, it sends a sweet, shocking jolt through Robert just to see him, still there. It’s just – so _close_ to everything he wants. Everything he’s waiting for.

So he doesn’t ask Aaron to stay. And he doesn’t tell Aaron to leave. It’s Aaron’s choice, and that makes it fair, he figures. 

One of those sleep-flashes must yawn its way into something longer, because it’s a whisper of movement off to the side that tugs him back to awareness…and he opens his eyes to find Aaron standing beside the bed – finally ready to go, he realises.

Sleep-blurred instinct makes Robert reach out his hand to catch him. It’s not a protest…he means it as a goodbye, if anything. But his thumb slides under the cuff of Aaron’s jumper, skating over his bare inner wrist, and Robert hears him draw in a sharp breath. 

He waits for Aaron to jerk his hand away, to tell him to let go – he _will_ , as soon as he’s asked, even though it feels like he’s been magnetised to that one piece of warm, bare skin. He risks a small, dizzying sweep of his thumb that ends with the pad pressed to the throb of Aaron’s pulse. He’ll stop touching the second he’s asked.

But Aaron doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, low and urgent, he says, “If we did this for real” –

And.

Everything inside of Robert goes quiet. Suddenly, and completely. 

He’s not aware of thought, or heartbeat, or breath.

Just Aaron’s words echoing inside him, filling him up. 

“If we tried it…” Aaron says again. “You know there’s some stuff I’m not telling you. Can you be all right with that?”

It takes a moment before he can make himself nod. It’s like he’s forgotten how. His heart’s still stopped in his chest. “Yeah.”

“You’re okay with it? _Really_?” Aaron stresses. 

He forces himself to consider it, properly, because of this. In spite of the fact that his brain keeps sparking, shorting out when he tries to think. “Well, I don’t love the idea, but…I can handle it.”

It’s what it _means_ , more than anything. The fact that there are still some secrets between them. Secrets that Aaron doesn’t feel ready to share with him. 

But he can wait. If he has to. “And maybe, if we give it enough time, you’ll change your mind.” 

As long as it takes. 

“And if I never do?”

He takes a breath. “Then…I’ll just have to trust you, won’t I?”

He can see Aaron swallow. Close his eyes, and then nod.

Just once.

Robert’s heart judders back to life, thumping hard through his body. 

“C’mere.” There’s a lump in his throat that Robert has to speak around. He tugs on Aaron’s arm, on the wrist still encircled by his fingers. “C’mon. Sit down – you’re making me nervous.” 

The joke comes out a bit mangled, but he does, his weight sinking onto the hospital bed, solid. _Real_. They’re eye to eye now, or almost, and Robert can’t stop _looking_. Like Aaron might disappear if he so much as blinks. But it’s all right – because Aaron’s looking back at him the same way. 

“Is that a yes, then?” Robert has to ask. Has to make absolutely sure.

A small considering movement of his head. “Depends what you’re asking.”

Aaron’s off-handedness is too thin – Robert can still feel the underlying seriousness pulsing through. It makes his mouth twist up in recognition anyway.

“You know when you first came in here – that night with Belle?” It takes him a few moments to find the words, to fit them together the right way, so that Aaron will know exactly what he means. 

So that he can put out there exactly what it is he wants. 

“ _You_ said we could call it quits, because now, we were even. Well…if you meant that – about us being even…then the _last_ thing I want to do is walk away from this.” He runs his thumb across the back of Aaron’s hand, and says, “I want us to try again. I want – I want to _be_ with you…but properly, this time. If you’ll have me.”

Aaron frowns. “Did I really say that?” 

Robert starts to say “Yes,” but before he gets further than the “Y–”, Aaron’s shaking his head. 

“Because if I did, then I was wrong, wasn’t I? Because there’s no way that we’re _even_. Not a chance. _You_ might’ve forgotten – but I haven’t.”

His hand slips off Aaron’s, curling onto the sheets. It feels like his heart is withering in his chest – and Robert almost doesn’t hear the rest of what he says. Has to ask “…what?”

“You still owe me a dinner and a night out,” Aaron repeats. “Remember?” 

A laugh stumbles out of his chest, painful, and good. “…yeah,” he says. “Yeah.” 

Robert just looks at him and drinks the moment in, like sunlight…until he can’t hold the words back any longer. 

“I love you,” he says.

Immediately, Aaron shifts on the bed, his head turning to the side –but Robert finds his hand shooting out to cup Aaron’s face to stop the withdrawal. To keep him _here_.

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t,” Aaron says. “We’re just…trying this – and I can’t promise that” –

“ _Ssh_ ” – Robert places his thumb over Aaron’s mouth – and he stops speaking. Looks at Robert.

“I love you,” Robert says again. He can already feel Aaron shaping objections against his skin, so he says, more firmly, “No – I _love_ you. I love you, and it doesn’t _matter_ that you don’t believe me yet…because I’m going to prove it to you. Okay?”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, but Robert can feel the breath from his slightly parted lips, and his eyes are open, and looking back at him, like…like…

“Just” – Robert says, and cuts himself off. “Just” –

And then he’s got both his hands on Aaron’s face, beard prickling against his palms, and their mouths are pressed together in a soft, shaky-breathed kiss. 

His nose presses into Aaron’s cheek, and Aaron makes a sound that catches in the back of his throat. It’s achingly familiar, and at the same time, like nothing Robert’s ever known before.

He can only handle it for a moment, before he has to pull back – but not too far, just enough to rest his forehead against Aaron’s. He already wants to do it again. 

“You know, you’ll probably have to wait a bit for the night out. Until I’m back on my feet.” As normal as he tries to sound, the quake running through his voice contradicts it. His left hand has returned to rest on the hospital blanket, only a fraction away from Aaron’s. He inches it closer, so that their fingers are just brushing, barely touching.

Aaron moves enough to look at him, and gives a small shrug. “Suppose I’ve not got anywhere else to be.”

It’s nowhere near an ‘I love you’, or even the promise of it. Between the two of them, there’s only the small, shining possibility.

But Robert can still feel the slight graze of Aaron’s fingers against his…

And Aaron doesn’t move his hand away.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So – it’s a year from now, and we’re shopping.”

_EPILOGUE_

Vic’s just pulling the final tray of Chocolatey Bits out of the oven when the doorbell goes. 

“Already? I thought there’d be more time,” she says, as she whips off her oven gloves and presses a hand to her overheated face. “They look all right though – don’t they?”

“Well, they definitely look home-made,” Robert tells her, as she unfastens her apron. 

“It’s this oven – I’m not used to it. When I do them at home, I don’t even have to think about it. Perfect, every time.” 

“Once they taste all right, no-one’ll care.” He reaches out to take a Bit from an earlier, cooled batch. She slaps his hand away. “Oi – not yet!”

He stares at her. “Er – whose house-warming is it again?” 

“Speaking of, shouldn’t _you_ be opening the door?” She raises her eyebrows.

He moves through the apartment, into dining area cum sitting room, where Adam’s perched on the couch with Aaron. Neither of them seem in any rush to stand, even though both of them are closer to the front door. 

“No, don’t worry about that – _I’ll_ get it,” Robert says, as he stops briefly by the sofa (grey. New. Expensive, but an investment, he’d finally convinced Aaron – though the sight of Adam Barton stretched out, feet on the coffee table depreciates the overall picture more than a little). “You could make a bit more of an effort, you know.”

Aaron shrugs. “You’re the one who wanted a party.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but the doorbell goes again. “You not gonna answer it?” Adam asks.

Outside Mill Cottage, Carly grabs a bottle of wine from her companion and thrusts it at Robert. “Happy housewarming!”

“Thanks,” Robert says, then makes a face. “You couldn’t have taken the price off?” 

“Sorry,” David says, next to her. “Bit of a hectic day…what with everything, I forgot to” – he mimes pulling a tag. “It’s really good though,” he assures Robert. “Flying off the shelves.”

“It must be – if the second one comes free,” he says, reading the black scrawl on the neon pink star-shaped label. David has the grace to look abashed – but because someone has to be the bigger person, Robert gestures over his shoulder. “D’you want to come in?”

“Actually…” David stretches the word out before his arm shoots to the side – pulling a hitherto unrevealed adolescent into view. Robert blinks. “You don’t mind if Jakey here tags along, do you?”

As Robert opens his mouth to reply, he quickly adds, “Bearing in mind that Victoria invited me specially. And…more than once.”

He bites down on the words that want to come out, and stands aside. David claps the kid on his gangly shoulder and says, “What’d I tell you? Not a problem,” before propelling him in the door. 

Jakey-the-teenager takes a moment to say, “Thanks,” to Robert as he passes, before David’s pulling him along, holding forth on “– quality time, I will show _you_ quality time” –

Before trailing after them, Carly pauses long enough to murmur to Robert, “Open-the-wine,” through a smile that’s solidified on her face like cement.

*****

“– really like what you’ve done with the place,” Priya Kotecha says, glancing around. She’s a beautiful, professional looking woman in a pencil skirt – a perfect match for her husband. And, considering the Kotechas are now their landlords/neighbours, they’d really had no choice but to invite them to the housewarming.

( _Their_ congratulatory bottle of wine hadn’t had a price sticker on it, either).

“So…when’s the rest of the grand tour?” butts in another, less cultured voice. 

“That was it,” Robert tells Kerry Wyatt, who frowns in disappointment. “You mean we don’t get to see upstairs?”

“ _No_ ,” Robert tells her. It’s mostly a sea of yet-to-be-sorted-through boxes up there anyway. 

And a bed. A _double_ bed that, after months of cramming into the backseats of cars (followed by months of awkward mornings after at The Woolpack), looks like a gilt-edged and firm-mattressed invitation to debauchery. One that Robert fully intends to accept. He pauses. “Hang on – who invited you again?”

“I’m Bernice’s plus-one.” As if in demonstration, Kerry links arms with the name she’s just dropped. 

“She accosted me in the street,” Bernice informs him. “Practically wrapped herself around my leg to stop me from leaving her behind.”

“Ey, sorry for trying to make this less awkward for you. I mean – no-one likes turning up to these things on their own, do they?” she appeals to Andy, who had showed up alone fifteen minutes ago.

“Er…”

“For heaven’s sake – it’s a housewarming, not a wedding!”

“Though you never know, that’s probably next on the cards,” Brenda Hope from the café (another of Vic’s invitees – and gossipy insinuation made flesh), interjects. 

This has him immediately looking for Aaron – who luckily, is over on the other side of the room with Adam, and probably hasn’t even heard her (Sam Dingle is in the middle of explaining something that requires some odd gesturing). 

Robert relaxes fractionally. It had taken ages for Aaron to even come around to the idea of moving in together…he’d kept sidling around the suggestion like a starving cat round a bowl of food that might be poisoned. God only knows how he’d take the idea of a full-on ceremony _specifying_ forever. Not yet

Of course, there’s no question on _Chas_ ’ reaction. She jumps right in, face like a sudden case of food poisoning, to advise, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

“I’m only saying – I mean…it is the next step, isn’t it?” 

Robert glares over at Vic, who finally breaks off from wooing Bob to brandish her tray toward Bob’s other half, “Would you like one, Brenda?”

“Oh go on – they’re very good,” Bob tells her, and Brenda takes a bumpy, chocolate-cloaked disc.

“Mm – very nice,” she says, one hand delicately covering her mouth to prevent a spray of crumbs.

“Nice enough for you both to immediately jump at the opportunity to sell _Vic’s Chocolatey Bits_ in Café Main Street?” his sister asks brightly.

“Oh…er…” Bob and Brenda look at each other, communicating in a kind of startled semaphore, and Vic magnanimously decides, “Why don’t you take a few minutes to discuss it, and I’ll check back in with ya later?”

Smoothly she and her tray move off, and Robert follows, catching her by the arm. Low-voiced he asks, “What did I tell you about the hard sell?”

“I’m not gonna _force_ them into it.”

“I thought that was why you invited them? Because it definitely wasn’t for the sparkling conversation.” 

“Yeah, all right, I’m using this as a showcase for my stuff – but I’m not gonna strongarm anyone. My Chocolatey Bits are gonna sell on their own merits.”

“Vic…you can’t afford to hang back when you’re trying to start a brand. You’ve gotta get in there and _make_ it happen.”

She fixes him with a less than impressed look. “Thanks for the advice – noted. But…just a suggestion? I could go for a bit more ‘silence’ from my so-called silent partner.”

The doorbell goes again, and while Robert’s distracted, she makes her escape. 

It turns out to be Zak and Lisa with Belle, and behind them, Doug and Diane, who bestows her greetings and a cheek kiss on Robert, as the Dingles wander over toward Aaron. Doug hands over a pot containing what looks like a squat green pincushion.

“ _Echinocactus grusonii_ ,” he says. “I thought it best to give the two of you something – hardy. And you can’t get lower maintenance than a cactus.”

“– thanks,” Robert says. And he waits a full minute before making his way over to the cluster of Dingles around the couch, grimacing at the clutter of beer cans already gracing the coffee-table, before discreetly balancing the cactus near the edge. All it would take is the brush of one badly judged knee…

“– still hard to believe,” he hears Lisa Dingle say from somewhere off to the side, and when he straightens, Belle Dingle’s in front of him, proffering a small paper bag. “You can put this in the pile,” she says.

“Thanks,” he tells her as he takes it. And, “We’re glad you came.”

He’s aware of the people-packed room, the mingling of bodies and the buzz of voices all around him. But in spite of Aaron’s general aversion to, well…all _this_ …he’s confident that he speaks for both of them in this case.

“Yeah, well, us unreliable witnesses have to stick together. Can’t conspire to maliciously pervert the course of justice on our own, can we?” It doesn’t quite hit the ‘joke’ she’s trying for, and neither does her worn smile.

Robert looks at her. Chas had been right, moreso than she probably would ever have guessed, that night in the hospital. Even with all his intimate knowledge, it had still taken Robert aback to find himself similarly targeted with poison-tipped darts. 

Because in spite of his and Chrissie’s brief détente in Hotten General, Lachlan’s defence lawyer hadn’t had any hesitation in holding up Robert’s memory gaps along with Belle’s past psychosis in front of the jury, twisting and manipulating the facts _just_ enough to make them look unreliable at best, completely untrustworthy at worst. Of course, it’s a clear attempt to claw back ground for Lachlan. To give him a better chance… _any_ chance at all – in the face of the evidence. 

It’s not over yet, though. Not by a long shot. 

“It’s a strategy, that’s all,” Robert says. “They’re running scared, trust me.”

“Yeah,” she gives him an almost-smile this time…which he counts as a success.

A voice intrudes. “You two on about the Whitewash?” Cain.

“No,” Belle says, immediately. “Just” –

“– I was just thanking Belle for this,” Robert finishes, holding up her gift. 

Cain’s flanked by Moira Barton, his (and Robert doesn’t have any hesitation in saying this) better half, and he eyes the still unopened paper bag. “Hope you didn’t spend too much,” he tells Belle.

“I didn’t notice you contributing,” Robert says. “You _do_ know that it’s traditional to give a gift in this kind of situation?”

Cain regards him evenly. “I saved your life. You’re welcome.”

Moira rests a hand on his chest, warning and peace-keeping at the same time. “We brought a cake,” she tells Robert. “I gave it to Aaron.”

He looks around. “Where _is_ Aaron?”

“Thought that was your department,” Cain smartarses. 

Robert’s eyes scour the room – Diane, Chas and Doug form a trio, Diane squeezing Chas’ shoulder like Aaron’s gone off to war instead of moving down the road…Marlon surreptitiously taking a Chocolatey Bit off a tray, and subjecting it to a thorough mastication…Adam looking on as Vic sketches some vision in the air for Bob and Brenda – Aaron’s absence winds through the room like a dropped thread.

He frowns and goes off in search, giving a wide berth to the awkward Wyatt-Kotecha pairing. Instead, catching an earnest sounding, “– you know, like Mum used to do?” from Jakey-the-teenager in passing (and a glimpse of Carly behind him, tossing back the remainder of her drink)…he finally manages to escape into the kitchen.

Where, true to form, Aaron is standing, hands in his pockets – alone amidst the debris of Vic’s Chocolatey Bits assembly.

“There you are.”

His eyes flick to Robert in brief acknowledgment, before Aaron looks away. Outside, they can still hear the hubbub of conversation, but it feels to Robert like they’re on a little island, cut off from it. It’s nice – a moment where it can be just them for a bit. The next best thing to actually being alone together in their apartment. 

Alone together in their _home_. 

“Everything all right?” Robert asks, as light as he can. He takes a few steps closer, heartened when Aaron doesn’t move away, or close himself off. “I know it’s not your scene, but…people are starting to ask where you are.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Well, me mostly,” he tells him, the edge of a smile flirting through the words. “Why’d you think I came looking?”

Aaron doesn’t respond to his tone. “Seemed like you were doing okay out there.”

His phrasing is matter of fact, not accusing, but there’s something, some minor catch that signals the presence of a hidden trapdoor. It makes Robert ask, “Have I done something wrong here?”

“No,” Aaron tells one of the baking trays soaking in the sink.

“Really? Because that’s not the impression I’m getting. Look – if it’s about the housewarming, you _do_ know that it was mostly Vic’s idea, don’t you?” 

No response. Robert blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, all right? I get that you hate it, I just thought” –

“It’s not that,” he says, so quick it’s like he doesn’t even mean to give it away.

“Was it Brenda? You heard what she said, didn’t you? Nosy old bag.”

Aaron shakes his head. “What? No.”

“Well, what then?”

He presses his lips together, like he wants to keep it inside. 

Robert just waits until finally –

“…you.”

“ _Me_?” he repeats. He has to rest his eyes on the calm, cream-coloured wall opposite. Air leaking out of him, he makes himself ask, “What’ve I done this time?”

He already knows – not _what_ (obviously), but just from the way Aaron’s acting.

“Nothing.” Though it only takes a second for Aaron to amend, “Not now, anyway.”

Not now. 

Which means _then_. 

Robert braces himself. “All right. Let’s have it.” 

It’s only recently that Aaron’s started to do this – started to make some small mentions of _before_. It’s just the basics…and not even those, really. There’s no scene-setting, or long drawn-out anecdotes. No, the details he drops are short and sharp, and Robert…well, he doesn’t _like_ it, because who in their right mind _likes_ being rapped over the knuckles with past, forgotten misdeeds? It’s like being haunted by a ghost of himself. 

But he thinks it’s a good sign that Aaron’s begun to tell him…if not _everything_ , then some things, at least. That he trusts Robert enough to give him the chance to allay his fears. It feels like he’s regaining ground, inch by hard-won inch. Prying the future free from the mire of the past. 

Here and now, Aaron chews his lower lip briefly before admitting, “ _This isn’t a love story_. You said that. About us.”

“Well, I think we’ve pretty much established that I was an idiot back then.” He puts as much soft humour into his voice as he can, to show his words up as the ridiculous lie they were...that he had to have _known_ they were, even then. “Okay?”

Aaron nods, though his gaze still slides off to the side. 

He moves in close, reaching out his hands to place them on Aaron’s hips, a low satisfaction humming through him when Aaron allows himself to be pulled in.

“My turn,” Robert tells him. 

“You’re really gonna keep on with that?”

“You shared something with me…it’s only fair that I do the same.” It’s a new thing. A way to lighten the atmosphere, if nothing else. 

“Something that ‘ant happened though.” 

“Well, there’s not much point otherwise, is there? You know everything else already.” 

Of course…that’s not the only reason he does it. Aaron gives him a peek into the past…so he tries to give Aaron a glimpse of the future. 

“And that makes it okay for you to lie your head off?” It’s strange. In spite of his objections, Robert can see the black-tinged memory releasing its grip on him, and slipping back into the past, where it belongs. It’s almost familiar, even though this is only the third time Robert’s done this. 

“D’you want me to tell you, or not?”

Aaron shrugs. 

“All right,” Robert says. “So – it’s a year from now, and we’re shopping.”

Aaron’s forehead scrunches up. “What?”

He leans in, close enough to murmur, “It’s the bed. It’s _knackered_. We need a new one.”

A scoff – but Robert turns his face to rub his nose under Aaron’s ear. “What? You think I’m making this up? I’m telling you – a year’s time, that’s where we’ll be.”

“Yeah – that’s what you’d like to think.” It’s not denial but Aaron’s grumbling, mick-taking way of playing along. 

There’s a burst of laughter from the gathering outside – startling. Robert moves back, enough that he can look him in the eye when he says, “I promise you,” before tipping forward to close the few inches of distance between them. 

The kiss is meant to be short and reassuring. And it is – until Aaron’s mouth opens. The bare hot brush of tongue and Robert’s got his thumbs slipping under the hem of Aaron’s top to touch skin and –

There’s the sound of throat-clearing from behind.

They separate, and Chas Dingle advances, a half-demolished tray of Chocolatey Bits in hand, and addressing herself mostly to Aaron. “There’s a party out there, you know. _Your_ party, as a matter of fact…which means no hiding in the kitchen allowed.”

She spares a scrap of side-eye for Robert. 

“I’m moving house, not leaving the country,” Aaron says. “I don’t know why everyone’s acting like it’s such a big deal.”

“Oh, you know us Dingles – any excuse for a knees up,” Chas tells him, free hand coming out to touch his arm. “And we just – want the best for you. No matter what you might say, it _is_ a big deal…moving in with someone.”

“Mum” –

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna try and talk you out of it. Again.” She tries a smile. “Whatever you might think, I _am_ making an effort. Trying to be happy for the two of you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Robert mutters.

“I said _trying_ ,” she snaps. Back to Aaron. “I just – hope you know that you’re still welcome back home, and that you can always stay at the pub if there’s a fight. _When_ there’s a fight. Or even if you start to have second thoughts…”

Robert raises his eyebrows, and Aaron shifts on his feet. 

“Sorry,” Chas says. “Force of habit. But look! Being nice!” And ostentatiously, she offers the tray to Robert, “Chocolatey Bit?”

All eyes and teeth, she nods at him until he takes one. Then, as he puts it in his mouth –

“Don’t choke on it!” she says brightly. At Aaron’s look, “What? I said _don’t_. Baby steps, love.” She pats his shoulder. “Now come on, Paddy’s here, and you should say hello. At least thank him for the novelty glasses shaped like upside down beer bottles.”

“Classy,” Robert says, and wonders, “Is ‘thanks’ really the right word?” Chas takes a moment to shove the little tray into his chest, his hands coming up instinctively to take it. 

“You don’t mind, do you? Ta,” she says – looping her arm through Aaron’s and pulling him through to the living room.

Robert drops the tray onto the table and follows, arriving by Aaron’s side in time to hear Rhona offer a –

“– happy for you,” and nudge Paddy. “Aren’t we?”

Paddy draws out a non-committal sort of ‘ _nyeh_ ’ sound for what seems like forever, before amending it to, “Maybe more…cautiously optimistic.”

Five longer-than-normal minutes later, and Vic comes to the rescue, pulling them away from the blurring-but-still-present aura of parental disapproval (biological and surrogate) surrounding them. Of course, this soon devolves into the upside-down-beer-glass half empty version of the story, as it turns out that Vic wants to involve him and Aaron in her ongoing argument with Marlon. “– Robert had five, and Aaron’s” –

“Aaron’s a human waste disposal. He doesn’t count.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Aaron says, midway through a messy mouthful, and Robert makes a face. 

“Can’t say it’s not true though,” Adam says, digging him in the side. 

“– just going by tonight, they’re a crowd-pleaser… _you_ just can’t admit it.”

“Look – I’m not saying they’re not _good_ ,” Marlon tells Vic. “But you don’t think a hint of salt would” –

“ _No_ ,” Vic says, very definitely, and Robert can see why she’d want to spread her wings. And of _course_ , he’s an irritating oversized branch on Aaron’s family tree. 

He casts a quick look around the room – Priya Kotecha has got her coat over her arm, and it looks like she and Rakesh are beginning the process of detachment from Sam Dingle and Kerry Wyatt, who Robert imagines will have to be swept out the door via brush and pan given how she’s knocking the drinks back. 

Still, once someone makes the first move homeward, that should start the rest of them off. With Bob and Brenda now added to her group, Carly looks two drinks past fed up, and over in the corner Diane’s already discreetly covering a yawn (though that could be Doug-related). 

Granted, most of Aaron’s family look ensconced, and in general have the social grace of two-legged wolves, but if worst comes to worst, Robert can throw a six pack onto the lawn and lock the door while they fight over it. 

They can go upstairs, him and Aaron, as soon as the place is emptied. And it can start being just them. Their house.

But that’s an hour or so in the future. Meanwhile, Marlon blunders on. “And the _name_ – I mean, no offence but… _Vic’s Chocolatey Bits_? It doesn’t exactly sound gourmet, does it?”

“How about this?” Vic says. “You don’t criticise _my_ Chocolatey Bits, and I won’t criticise _yours_.”

Marlon gapes at her. It’s ironic, Robert thinks, but every single expression on his face seems somehow…overcooked. Extra. “Well, joke’s on you – because I’ve not _got_ any bits for you to criticise.”

Aaron raises his eyebrows, and Adam starts to guffaw. 

“Immediately wish I hadn’t said that,” Marlon realises, holding up a skinny finger.

“See, I think what you _meant_ to say was – _Congratulations, Vic_. Am I right?” 

Her shoulder bumps companionably against Robert’s arm as she talks. He gives a surreptitious glance across the room to check on the state of the Kotechas’ impending exit – impatience starting to stir in him…though his attention swiftly shifts to the cluster around the sofa. From the way Belle’s tugging on Lisa’s arm, and how quick Cain is to elbow Zac to awareness, that six pack might not turn out to be necessary after all. 

There’s a shift of movement at his side. 

“Alright?” Aaron asks. Robert mirrors his motion, angling their bodies more toward each other. The argument between Marlon and Vic – that comes off as much performance as genuine opposition (aided by the presence of Adam, as cheering/jeering spectator) lends them a kind of privacy. 

“Yeah,” Robert says.

“Well, I’m not. It’s been ages – when are this lot gonna slope off?” Aaron’s eyes meet his, for a charged moment. 

There’s a double bed upstairs. It’s _their_ bed. 

“Give it another half hour – if no-one’s making a move by then, we’ll start flicking the light switches.”

Aaron’s mouth quirks and he turns back to the party, pulling a face at the sight of Chas, absently shimmying to the low music coming from the speaker on the side table. She brushes against Paddy, visibly startling him – he only just saves his drink from spilling all over the hardwood floor. And Rhona.

Nearby, Robert hears Vic say his name, and when he glances over, she smiles at him, continuing her conversation without missing a beat.

He looks off to the side – and across the room, he catches Andy’s eye. Bernice is still jawing his ear off, but he doesn’t seem bothered by that. As he looks at Robert, the corners of his mouth turn up and he nods, before turning his attention back to Bernice.

Beside him, Robert’s hand finds the small of Aaron’s back, and rests there. 

_Home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I have ever written, and I kind of can't believe that I finished it (ignore the editing/errors/cleanup needed). I also can't believe so many people have taken the time to read and to comment - this is just one of the nicest, most supportive fandoms I have ever been in, and I appreciate it so much. To anyone who makes it this far...all I can say is THANK YOU, and I hope (hope hope) the ending works okay for you. <3


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